


The Prisoners' Dilemma

by Avelera



Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, BAMF Hermann Gottlieb, Blackmail, Broken Engagement, Chains, Dark, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Drift Side Effects, Engineering, Eventual Happy Ending, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff, Ghost Drifting, Hacking, Hostage Situations, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Imprisonment, Kidnapping, Love, M/M, Mind Control, Mutual Pining, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Hermann Gottlieb, POV Newton Geiszler, Past Relationship(s), Pining, Possession, Precursor Emissary Newton Geiszler, Rescue, Romance, Science, The Drift (Pacific Rim), Worried Hermann Gottlieb
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-11
Updated: 2019-01-11
Packaged: 2019-07-29 15:44:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 44,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16267319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Avelera/pseuds/Avelera
Summary: One year after Newt abandoned Hermann to work for Shao Industries, Hermann decides to confront his ex-fiancé. Not with any intention of trying to win Newton back, of course, but only to gain some kind of closure, some answers for why he vanished so suddenly and avoided even speaking to Hermann ever since.Except when Hermann confronts Newt in his home, he learns that Newt is under the control of the Precursors, and that they have every intention of killing Hermann to keep their secret. Newt strikes a desperate bargain to save Hermann's life, which the Precursors accept with the condition of Newt's good behavior, and that Hermann can never be allowed free again.Now a prisoner, it is up to Hermann to try to free them both, while keeping the secret of his plan to do so from the man who knows him best in the world.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [IDoNotBiteMyThumbAtYou](https://archiveofourown.org/users/IDoNotBiteMyThumbAtYou/gifts).



> Special thanks to IDoNotBiteMyThumbAtYou for her support and encouragement, and special thanks to marsh for coming up with an amazing title for this story!
> 
>  **Author's Note (contains spoilers):** While this story will be going to some dark places (as you can see from the tags), I can promise this story is, at its heart, a fairly optimistic tale about the lengths two people will go to to protect the person they love. There are no dark or non-con elements _between_ Newt and Hermann. Any dark elements to this story are entirely on the side of the Precursors, and the situation revolving around their possession of Newt. This story is canon divergence, and asks the question of what would have happened if Hermann _had_ taken steps to confront Newt in the early days of his disappearance and possession. If you have read my other story "The Only Way Out is Down" you might recognize this AU as the divergence point speculated upon in Circle 2 "Lust". This story takes that premise to its logical conclusion. ( / End Spoilers)
> 
> Thank you for joining me on this journey, I do hope you enjoy!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _prisoner's dilemma_  
>  pris·on·er's di·lem·ma  
> n.  
> In game theory, a scenario in which two players can cooperate with or betray each other, with neither player knowing the strategy of the other, and the outcome for each player varying according to the combined outcome of both.

Hermann stared dully at the television screen, its light the only one in the room against the grey of a rainy Shanghai afternoon. He wouldn’t have turned it on, except that the chattering voices of the news provided some counterpoint to the silence when the flat was empty. He hardly paid attention to it, except in moments like this, when he straightened at the sound of his name.

“We’re now in the third week since renowned scientist and hero of ’25 Dr. Hermann Gottlieb went missing. Suspects range from Kaiju cultists to ransom by the collapsing Kaiju black market, but as far as anyone has been able to determine, Dr. Hermann Gottlieb left the Hong Kong Shatterdome one day and simply vanished. Today we’re joined from Shanghai by his former lab partner and current head of Shao R&D, Dr. Newton Geiszler, and from Hong Kong by PPDC Officer Tendo Choi, who are seeking  _any_  information that might lead to Dr. Gottlieb’s safe return.”

Two projections joined the anchor at her desk, flickering blue and transparent. Hermann’s gaze skated past Newt, with his expensive suit and sunglasses, projecting in from his office at Shao Industries. Instead, he studied Tendo. Even in distress, the man was never one to give in to a slovenly appearance and he was perfectly coiffed with his hair slicked back, bow-tie crisp. Was that one new? Hermann had not seen it before he left Hong Kong. Tendo’s mouth was drawn to a tense line.

“Thanks for having us on again, Cathy. I’m sure the folks back home are getting sick of hearing from us.”

“Not at all,” the anchor said with the easy, plastic cheer of television. “ _I’m_ sure our viewers are just as concerned for the whereabouts of Dr. Gottlieb. The world owes him, owes all of you, a great debt.”

“Which is why the PPDC is asking for any information which might lead to his whereabouts,” Tendo said. “We’ve set up a helpline…”

“Mmmyeah, and I’m gonna stop you right there, Tendo my man,” Newt interrupted. The camera zoomed in on him as he pulled the microphone closer. “Sure, we  _all_  owe the PPDC a lot, but as you may have heard, I used to work for the PPDC too, and I can definitely say that  _they_  owe Dr. Gottlieb just as much. The only problem is, I’m not sure they’ve got the funds anymore to get the job done now that the Kaiju are gone. I mean hey, more power to you for looking after one of your own, but he was  _my_  lab partner, and whatever psychopath nabbed him off the streets could be coming for  _me_  next,” his voice skittered over a nervous shriek at those words. “Which is why I’m setting up my own helpline, along with a fully encrypted, state of the art dropbox and ten thousand bucks American for  _any_  reliable tip on Gottlieb’s whereabouts. One million goes to anyone who leads to his recovery, courtesy of Shao Industries. At Shao, we know how much we owe our heroes, and we’re not afraid to put our money where our mouth is.”

Tendo’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “Well, that’s… damn generous of you, brother. Thank you.”

“Nothing generous about it,” Newt said, waving dismissively. “This tip line is pure self-defense. Gottlieb and I haven’t spoken in ages, but I don’t expect some wacky Kaiju cultist to get that.”

“So there was no truth to the rumor that you and Dr. Gottlieb were engaged soon after the Breach closure?” the news anchor pounced. “Given the extent of the reward, it’s easy to imagine that it’s due to more personal reasons.”

Newt sneered. “And here I thought I was talking to a respected news channel and not some entertainment rag. No, Cathy. We shared a lab. I know you were all hounding us for some juicy puff piece,  _romance in the Shatterdome_ , but those were just rumors. We wouldn’t have even _shared_ that lab if not for PPDC funding cuts. Of course I want him found, but hey, he always was a weird dude. Maybe he just got tired of the PPDC, and he bounced to go chill on a beach somewhere. I hope that’s the case, I wouldn’t wish the alternative on anyone. Well, except maybe the Kaiju. They can stay gone,” Newt laughed, and Cathy joined him. Tendo frowned.

“Thank you for your time, gentlemen, and I’m sure I speak for all of us when I say we hope Dr. Gottlieb is found safe very soon. We’ll be sharing the details of the PPDC tip line  _and_  the generous Shao Industries bounty program with you shortly. Next up…”

Hermann muted the television as soon as Newton and Tendo vanished from the screen, and silence returned to the flat. The hours ticked by as late afternoon turned into evening. It was not long after that when he heard the front door open.

Newt froze in the doorway at the sight of Hermann sitting on the couch. Then he looked away, folding his suit jacket over his arm, dropping his briefcase by the door and a bag of takeout on the kitchen counter. His polished leather shoes clicked as he approached, as if walking towards his own firing squad, and his expression tightened as he caught sight of the screen. The segment from the afternoon was playing again.

“So you saw that,” Newt said.

Hermann did not reply, did not even look at Newt in acknowledgment, but remained still, staring screen. He watched the other man out of his peripherals, as Newton ran a shaking hand through his hair, cursing under his breath as he turned his back.

“I had to. If anyone saw you come here… they’d kill you. I have to make sure any tip comes to me and not the PPDC. You have to understand that, right? Hermann?”

Hermann kept his lips sealed, betraying nothing on his face as Newt grew more agitated, pacing back and forth with occasional glances at Hermann. “Fuck, no I don’t want to change the deal! Of course he’s pissed, we stole his fucking  _life_. The money will work, it’ll work, I promise. Humans are bastards, they’ll take cash any day, and no one knows what to do with the PPDC anymore. They don’t trust ‘em. We’ll know if anyone is onto him, and we can shut down and discredit them if we need to.” Newt swallowed. “Ok. Ok, yeah that would… be good right now. Fuck, a pick-me-up would do just fine. I can’t believe they sent fucking  _Tendo_.”

Newt stopped, guilt flashing over his face as he looked back to Hermann on the couch. “I got you some takeout, go ahead and eat without me. I just gotta… I gotta… Well, you know. It’ll be better after, you’ll see. It helps," he said as if trying to assure himself. His hands shook. He seemed to notice and jammed them in his pockets. With a last glance back at Hermann, Newt climbed the stairs to the bedroom, drawing the makeshift curtain shut on the yellow light that pulsed from an unseen corner of the room.

It was a while before Hermann rose, and hobbled to the kitchen counter. As usual, Newt had ordered too much, but it wasn’t as if Hermann had given him any direction on what he wanted. He took a bowl of lo mein noodles and ate slowly, hardly tasting it. The refrigerator was full of old takeout, getting more was unnecessary, but Newt brought a fresh selection back with him every day.

Three weeks, according to the news. Hermann tugged idly at the metal collar around his throat, bolted by a long chain to a hook on the floor. No sounds emerged from Newton’s bedroom, but he might creep out sometime in the middle of the night, usually when he assumed Hermann was sleeping, to steal his own food back to the bedroom. There would be another brief glimpse in the morning as he set out for work at Shao Industries. Then the pattern would repeat itself like clockwork, except on weekends, when he would vanish until the wee hours of the morning, and return to the flat stumbling and reeking of alcohol. Those days had grown more frequent.

He still did not have enough information, and Hermann did not dare act until he did. It was acting without all the data that had brought him here in the first place.

* * *

**_August 2026 - 1 Month Prior_ **

 “I’m afraid Dr. Geiszler is unavailable today,” the receptionist said. The lobby of Shao Industries was heavily air-conditioned, chilling the sweat on the back of Hermann’s neck, damp from the humid Shanghai summer. His suit jacket hung over his arm, and he had considered putting it back on once inside. It seemed he need not have bothered. 

“I beg your pardon?” Hermann said, more snappish than he intended, but the heat had worn at him, and the sudden crumbling of his heightened anticipation sucked away any good humor he might have possessed. “Do you mean to say he _cannot_ meet with me, or _will_ not?” 

“Dr. Geiszler was called away on business this morning,” the receptionist said. Her face remained impassive, even as Hermann’s irritation spiked. “If you had a meeting, I’m happy to put you through to his secretary to reschedule.”

“I’m only in Shanghai for the day. You cannot seriously expect me to believe the man is simply gone, with no record of when he will return,” Hermann said. The only reason he accepted this particular speaking engagement at a third-rate computer programming conference was to have the excuse to fly here. But it was the middle of the week. There was no earthly reason Newton shouldn’t be _available_ on this day unless Hermann had the most damnable ill luck in the world for what was now the _fourth_  time he had tried to meet with Newton, the second instance where he had arrived unannounced on a normal workday. 

“I’m very sorry, sir,” the receptionist said, not seeming particularly sorry or bothered for that matter at all. “But if you stop by another time, or perhaps call ahead, Dr. Geiszler’s secretary…”

“Where _is_ he, precisely?” Hermann interrupted. Her expression closed. 

“I’m afraid I’m not able to say, sir. We don’t divulge our executives’ schedules to individuals outside the organization. It’s a security issue, you understand.”

“So if I march up those stairs this very moment, I won’t find him sitting at his desk?” Hermann snapped, pointing past her head with a rigid finger. 

She shook her head. “He’s off-site at the moment, sir… Sir! Dr. Gottlieb!” She caught up to him by the third step, he’d not been making good time compared to a young woman in her twenties, even with his stiff-legged fury, and she put her hands out in front of her without touching to stop him, blocking his path. “Sir, if you keep going I’m going to have to call security! Dr. Geiszler left the building this morning, he isn’t here!”

Hermann stopped. A muscle in his cheek twitched as his instincts warred with one another. Push past this woman, perhaps get himself blacklisted by Shao security, and confront the lie if it was one along with Newton in his office. Or accept that she was telling the truth. Except for what was now the third time in the last year that Newton had another meeting out of the blue that drew him away _precisely_ when Hermann was in the area. 

Good sense won out, as it always did, and his shoulders sank. “I see. Then I suppose there’s no point in troubling you further.” He turned and began the pained walk down the steps to the door. 

The receptionist’s face was creased with concern when she came back into his view, the first honest expression he had seen there since he walked in the door. “Dr. Gottlieb… you are _the_ Dr. Gottlieb, correct? Sir, everyone knows what you did to help close the Breach during the war, and here at Shao we also know the debt we owe you personally for coding the original Mark 1s, so I hope you understand, I meant no disrespect. Perhaps tomorrow Dr. Geiszler will be back at the office?”

“Do you have any guarantee of that?”

“No, sir, I don’t have access to his schedule, but if you could arrange to stay in town another day or two…?”

Hermann shook his head and felt some of the stiff anger leave his spine. He regretted its loss. It only reminded him of his weariness. But he offered the girl a thin smile. It wasn’t her fault, after all. “I will simply have to catch him at another time.”

She made no further attempt to call him back as he left the building, and back into the heat of the Shanghai summer. 

* * *

The old lab in the Hong Kong Shatterdome was waiting for Hermann that evening when he arrived after the two-hour flight from Shanghai after his cab right from the airport. He passed the sparse scattering of personnel in the hallways until he was back in the chill, windowless space of the lab he had once shared with Newton. He flicked on the lights and limped to his desk.

The Hong Kong Shatterdome would be closing soon. After almost two years since the closing of the Breach, Hermann was one of the last holdouts who still kept his office there. The facility was outdated even when Pentecost still reigned, and with the Breach closed it was in the process of being converted into a museum and memorial. A new Shatterdome was to be built in the South China Sea with a focus on monitoring potential breach activity, Hermann’s specialty. It would be state of the art, not like the rust bucket soon to be condemned that was Hong Kong. It would not share its ghosts. 

It would, however, share its solitude. 

There was little demand on Hermann’s time these days except to provide regular reports on nonexistent breach activity. Still, he had not moved his office from the lab once shared with Newton. He was comfortable there, and all knew him as a creature of habit. 

The lab would soon be converted into an exhibit as well. He had donated what items Newton had left behind to that cause, all except for a few keepsakes. His chalkboards would remain there as well. All of his holo-projectors and other equipment would be upgraded in Moyulan, so there was little to pack in the coming months. His days were consumed by the silence, and that was everywhere. 

Tendo had thrown himself into the conversion project, seeing it as the chance to commemorate the team that closed the Breach against all odds, as well as his personal friends from the Kaiju War like Marshal Pentecost and Yancy Becket. Though his eagerness might also have had something to do with the opportunity to apply his own personal style to the project, a prospect he clearly relished.

But Tendo was one of the few holdouts who remained. After ensuring the benefits owed to the Shatterdome personnel, Herc Hansen had vanished into a quiet retirement, visibly weighted down by the death of his son and the other loved ones he had lost in the final days of the war. Mako Mori and Raleigh Becket were busy with the speaking circuit, and the idolization the world heaped upon its most visible heroes, though there were rumblings that Mako would soon receive a generous offer to return to the PPDC ranks as a Marshal. Their recruitment had collapsed in the wake of the Breach closure, and Becket had made it clear in no uncertain terms that where Mako went, he would follow.

A selfish part of Hermann hoped that Mori would accept the offer, if only so that he was not the one remaining member of the old guard to remain on active duty with the PPDC. A less selfish part of him hoped Mako Mori would indeed serve as a shot of adrenaline to PPDC recruitment. Every day he checked the readings from the sensors at the bottom of the Pacific. Every day they presented no trace of further breach activity.

Every day, the sense of uneasiness in Hermann’s gut grew more pronounced. As if there were an enemy out there, but one that he could not _see_. Every day the same questions fluttered chaotically about his mind, finding no purchase or answers: why hadn’t they come back? _Could_ they come back? How many years did it take so advanced a society to build another breach? Could they find _another_ way in? And if they already had _,_ would anyone know until it was too late?

_It’s quiet. Toooo quiet,_ an echo of Newt drawled at the back of his mind. A pop culture reference, of course. All such intrusive thoughts were Drift echoes of Newt’s voice. After years spent working side by side with a white-knuckled grip on his chalk to keep from chucking it at Newton’s head, he was already cursed with a shadow of the man offering commentary over his shoulder. The nagging voice at the back of his mind had only grown more vibrant and precise after their Drift.

Indeed, along with the Drift had come a full-blown, precise model of Newton in his mind, granting Hermann among other things a jumble of new memories, flashes of emotion, and sudden clarity on the appeal of studying the Kaijus, the most complex organisms to ever walk the Earth. In essence, a carbon copy of Newton's brain as it existed on the day of their Drift, left behind in his head. Not telepathy, no. Nothing so impossible or romantic. It was not so much that he _sensed_ Newton’s emotions, but rather that the model could toss out a fair approximation when called upon, in particular, if they were in the same room experiencing the same objective reality. 

In the earliest days, it had been uncanny, and Hermann could understand why superstitious Jaeger pilots likened it to extrasensory perception. He had known how Newton would react without looking at him, had known if he edged closer, if he looked out of the corner of his eye at Newton as the cheers at the closure of the Breach erupted around them, that Newton would throw his arms around Hermann and…

Hermann shook his head. It had faded over time, bit by bit until his understanding of Newton’s every thought was no longer intrinsic and instinctive, but delayed and easy to compartmentalize away. These days, it required focus for him to summon the model again, to guess what Newton would do or say if he was still there with Hermann. If he hadn’t left. 

(And there was a second model in his head too, one he would never access on purpose but which remained on the shores of his mind like rotting debris after low tide, haunting him in his quiet moments, in his sleep when his defenses were lowered. Gnashing teeth, an acid sky, the sculpting of blood and bone to create horrors, malice and calculation enough to consume _worlds._ )

Hermann only noticed then that he had been chewing at his fingernails, and forced himself to stop. It had never been _his_ habit. Nail-biting was patently one of Newton’s, one of his little pieces of flotsam left on the shores of Hermann’s consciousness. Like his new appreciation for coffee, and his broadened taste in music, and his now cast-iron stomach at the sight of Kaiju viscera, fascinating where it had once been repulsive. 

So much of their Drift had shaped Hermann and the way he perceived the world. It had made him objectively a different person. Subjectively? Perhaps a better one. One that had shared almost a year of sympathetic harmony with its other half before that too had faded, just as the glory days of the Shatterdome, of this lab, faded. All to be lost soon to time, along with all their heroes and monsters, their Otachis and their Pentecosts. And, as far as Hermann’s world was concerned after this last missed encounter, their Newton Geiszlers.

Newton had moved on after their brief flirtation, their few months of closeness that had flared into intimacy, had peaked with Newton going to one knee and asking in a breathless, uneven voice a question that once Hermann would have thought him incapable of delivering seriously, but now _(then)_ with the Drift echo in his mind he had known Newton _meant_ it...

Except his Drift echo had apparently been wrong, as was made ever more clear with each unanswered call and curt text message. Newton had hardly been ambiguous that he wanted nothing to do with his past flight of impulse or the lab-partner-turned-fiancé that he had left behind. The interview in Shanghai had shown Hermann his true desires: money, fame, to be a “rockstar” of the corporate world he had once spurned. He had not looked back. Had not even made it clear to Hermann he wasn’t _coming_ back until after he was well settled there. He had met someone else, a woman, Hermann didn’t bother to remember her name. He hadn’t even looked Hermann in the eye to tell him it was over.

It was all as Hermann should have expected, what he would have known to expect if not for their Drift: Newton’s inconstancy, his flightiness, his impulse. The man never had a serious long-term relationship, had never been able to hold one down. ( _Yeah, because you ruined me for other people when I was twenty-fucking-five, you ass. I was holding out for my pen pal…_ the echo whispered.) 

He should have expected it, and yet...Newton had left many of his traits in Hermann’s mind, but cowardice had never been one of them. Nor had he gifted a short temper, Hermann had that all on his own, and it simmered now. Hermann had not borne Newton any ill will in _theory_ for choosing to end their relationship, but after being abandoned in such a craven and disrespectful manner, after so many failed attempts to confront the man over it for the sake of closure, he was beginning to _develop_ some ill will. 

Hermann prodded the dusty relic of a model in his mind, felt it stir to life like a wind-up doll. There was no telepathic connection, nothing so romantic or supernatural as that. As with all the natural world, it was only data points and biology, but together they could form something so lifelike… _Why did you avoid me in Shanghai?_ _Why do you refuse to speak to me, Newton? All I ask is to understand why you left. I will not beg you to come back. I am not so pathetic, nor so desperate as that. Why will you not do me this last courtesy of looking me in the eye to tell me it’s over?_

_Mmmyeah, are you sure you’re asking the right question there, Hermann?_ the voice drawled, so lifelike that it startled Hermann from his doze. The clock on the wall ticked towards midnight. The witching hour. And he was drained from his flight, practically dreaming, but that voice seemed so _real_. 

_Alright then, what_ is _the right question?_ Hermann prodded the model, almost breathless. Good God, it was like having Newton speaking in his ear. It made his heart lurch, made him want to reach out to it or to reach beside him and take Newton’s hand in his, but he pushed the instinct aside, along with the painful flare of emotion at the thought of having Newt close once more. This was about closure. The door was already shut, and there was no use in torturing himself with lingering sentiment.

_You’ve tried to corner me, what, like three times now? Four?_ The question held echoes of Hermann’s own voice. Of course, the model could not know anything Hermann did not, or that Newton had not known on the day of their Drift. _But I keep giving you the slip._

_Yes, damnable ill luck,_ Hermann thought back. He wasn’t _stalking_ the man. It was one thing to pursue a relationship that was definitively _over_ , and another to want one last, face-to-face meeting with his former lab partner, former lover, and former _fiancé_ to get some bloody answers before he shut that door in his heart forever. It wasn’t _sentiment_ it was _logic_ , it was…

_Was it?_

Hermann started, almost retorted that it _was_ logical to want closure when he realized that the model Newton was answering a different question entirely. 

_What do you mean?_ Hermann asked cautiously.

_Was it bad luck? I skipped out on the first two meetings when you called ahead, but you didn’t tell me you were coming this time, did you, or the time before that? So: how could I have known?_

Was it possible that…No, it was preposterous. Paranoid. He was sitting in his abandoned lab in a near-abandoned Shatterdome, listening to the fading ghost Drift of his ex-lover telling him… what?

_That I knew you were coming._

“The receptionist might have alerted him before I arrived if he truly was avoiding me,” Hermann muttered aloud. “The other times must have been chance.” 

_Dude, this is_ me _, and I know me. I’m not gonna rely on a receptionist as my only line of defense, no fucking way. He’s watching you, Hermann, avoiding you on purpose and he’s got some kind of early warning system set up. I would. He’s probably hacked your shit from here to next Tuesday to make sure you can’t sneak up on him._

Hermann’s body went cold. 

_Preposterous_ , he thought, but his heart began to race. “Preposterous,” Hermann added aloud for good measure. He rose to his feet, absentmindedly straightened some papers on his desk then fumbled for his briefcase. It was late, why was he even in the lab? It wasn’t as if he could get any work done after a day of travel. He should get some rest, the ramblings of his exhaustion-addled mind would clear by morning. 

_Yeah, sure thing, dude. I see how it is, ask for my help and then ignore me. But I bet if you showed up next week in Shanghai, he’d find another reason not to be there. He’s probably got a tracer on your credit card at the very_ least _._

Hermann paused in his paper sorting.

He could afford a day off. His work was barely part time these days, for all that he commanded a full-time salary and benefits. He was one of the heroes that closed the Breach, his name on the books was more valuable than any research he could contribute with the Kaiju gone. Though he never abused the privilege, he could certainly announce that he was taking a day off and likely not receive a single question on the matter. 

He sat back down at his desk.

“This is only to prove your theory is preposterous,” Hermann announced to the air.

 _If you’re worried you’re crazy, arguing with the imaginary lab partner in your head is reaaally not gonna help with that,_ the mind-Newton reminded him, and Hermann grumbled. The booking information appeared on the holo-screen, and he confirmed a same-day, roundtrip flight to Shanghai for next Monday before he could think better of it. He made sure to use his credit card. Start of the work week, there was no excuse for Newton not to be at the office. Technically there was no excuse for _him_ not to be at the office, but this was more important.

Newton would be there. Hermann would get the chance to say his piece, perhaps enjoy a nostalgic round of shouting at one another, but only because Newton had given him the run-around. By Tuesday, he’d be back at his lab with a new life ahead of him, a new Shatterdome, and thoughts of the troublesome lab partner who brought him nothing but grief since their first letters firmly moved to the past.

_Yeah, keep telling yourself that, buddy._

* * *

Newton was not at the office.

Furthermore, Newton not being at the office was unexpected and in fact quite inconvenient, as Hermann learned by eavesdropping on a group of furious executives, led by a stately young woman who appeared to be _the_ Liwen Shao herself. The inconvenience was made all the more so by the fact not even Dr. Geiszler’s personal secretary knew what had prompted his absence, or when he would be back. 

Hermann declined to stay in Shanghai another day in the hopes that this would change. He knew very well that it would not. When he returned to his lab on Monday evening, he sat down once more at his desk. 

_I toooold you so,_ the model-Newt jeered from the back of his mind. Hermann silenced the voice with a thought, compartmentalizing it away as he had learned to do with all but the most intrusive Drift echoes and nightmares. He needed to think.

Something was wrong. Newton ignoring him was one matter, avoiding him by hiding out in his office was another, but skipping out on work to ensure he was never in the same _building_ as Hermann was on a different level entirely. It was uncharacteristic of Newton, who was just as much a workaholic as Hermann was, and had never shied away from a confrontation. All of that aside, there was simply no way Newton could so consistently avoid him unless he was doing so intentionally.

This latest jaunt left no doubt in Hermann’s mind: Newton had him under surveillance. He was actively tracking Hermann’s credit card, perhaps more, in order to be better able to predict his movements and be elsewhere wherever he went. Once or twice might have been mere chance, four times strained credulity. Five was a pattern.

That uneasy feeling welled once more in Hermann’s gut, not so different from the one he felt every day when he read the breach sensor readouts and found nothing. The PPDC was hemorrhaging personnel. The world was ready to move on and forget the Kaiju had ever existed. All the heroes had retired or were in the process of transitioning to civilian life. Newton had joined a billion-dollar arms manufacturer out of the blue and was now actively avoiding him.

There was no relationship between these data points. It was, in fact, the sort of madness that haunted his field of theoretical mathematics, to find patterns where there were none. How long until he was seeing coded messages in the barcode serial numbers at the grocery store, or convincing himself that he was being watched by black helicopters? Down this path lay madness of a very specific sort that Hermann should fear most. He should forget this entirely and focus on the upcoming move to Moyulan, but the sensation nagged at him like a paper-cut.

There was an enemy in the room, one he could not see. He could feel it with every fiber of his being, and if Hermann was a wiser man, he would ignore that instinct. He would bury himself in the work ahead of him, as dull and banal as it might be. He would stick to the here and now. He would ignore any whispers at the back of his mind that something was _wrong_. He certainly would not give in to petty jealousy and sentiment to combine with this mad paranoia, convincing himself that confronting his flighty ex-fiancé would bring him answers where there were none. He would be sensible. Hermann had always been sensible.

Except when it came to Newton.

Before he fully admitted to himself what he was doing, Hermann began to write up a formal request, by hand, for a leave of absence from the PPDC. Tomorrow he would call in any latent favors he had, money owed to him in cash that left no trace of withdrawals on his bank statements, and he would begin to lay the groundwork. It was going to be necessary to disappear for a short while. For all the careful compartmentalization of his mind, he could _feel_ the whisper of the Drift echo creeping up his spine.

 _I knew you’d figure it out,_ the Newton in his mind gloated.

Which was how Hermann found himself, one week later, on a bus to Shanghai.


	2. Chapter 2

Spitting rain trailed down the bus window on the grey morning when Hermann set out from Hong Kong to Shanghai. It would be a grueling, twenty-hour trip, but it was the only means of transportation where he could pay cash and lose himself in the crowd to evade CCTV cameras. He had already switched vehicles twice at out-of-the-way bus stops in the middle of nowhere, making sure to switch up his outerwear each time. 

The secrecy sat heavy in his gut, as did incredulity at his own paranoia, but he would have his answer soon and he reminded himself firmly that _if_ his suspicions proved wrong, all he would lose was some dignity from a miserable trip by bus, and he could have a good laugh at himself later. If he got his answers, it would be only fitting that the final stretch before he received them was filled with thoroughly vexing circumstances brought on by one Newton Geiszler.

 _You’re not paranoid. Actually, you could stand to be a bit_ more _paranoid. Sunglasses and a hat aren’t gonna cut it with facial recognition, duh, that’s just 101. You shoulda changed again when you got to the Hong Kong station too, and lost the cane for a bit to switch up your walk,_ the voice of his facsimile Newt Geiszler yammered at the back of his head. He should have been more concerned by this, were it not a phenomenon regularly reported by Drift partners. Instead, Hermann found himself strangely soothed and rather exasperated.

 _That_ does _sound like something the paranoid voice in my head would say,_ Hermann thought back dryly. _And the cane would not have been an option given the time it took to board the bus in that crowd. Unless you’d rather I fell and caused a scene?_

 _No need to be sarcastic, I was just trying to help,_ the Newt model grumbled. _You should lose your cell phone and any other tech that can be tracked while you're at it, then switch one more time before Shanghai. Maybe start laying down a trail to somewhere else with your credit card._

 _One step ahead of you,_ Hermann thought back smugly. _My mobile was conveniently forgotten in my quarters, and I already confirmed with the J-Tech conference in Taipei, purchased the ferry ticket to the island, and arranged a self-check-in for the stay. And you say_ I _worry too much, darling._

He only realized his error when silence echoed back from the model in his head. _Darling_. How pointless and pathetic to whisper endearments to a ghost. What was the purpose of this whole exercise if he couldn’t remember that it was intended to banish the vestiges of Newton from his life? The most he could hope to salvage was some sort of working relationship. Together they had learned how to close the Breach, and that knowledge might be needed again at some point in the future. To think otherwise was to make the humiliation of this visit unbearable.

 _I don’t mind,_ the Newt voice in his head whispered. _Sorry, you just surprised me. Hermann, you don’t have to…_

He shut down the voice ruthlessly, shoving it to the back of his head where it belonged. Outwardly, nothing changed to betray this argument within his mind. He was simply a man sitting alone on the bus, staring out the window as the other passengers dozed, his eyes tracking the raindrops on the window as they broke apart, and reformed, and slipped away.

* * *

The final stretch was the most difficult. He entered the city of Shanghai from the suburbs where the final bus dropped him and from there took an unlicensed cab, paying cash and hoping the illegal nature of his transportation would keep the driver from asking questions. He then picked out a coffee shop across the street from Newt’s luxury high-rise and was on his sixth cup of tea that afternoon when the doorman finally left his post.

He saw his chance. Hermann was out of his chair in an instant, leaving his tea on the countertop and hustling across the street between the cars stopped at the light, his head ducked into the high collar of his jacket. The cold air of the high-rise lobby washed over him as he pushed open the glass doors. He didn’t pause, his movements stiff and his cane barely touching the marble floor as he rounded the doorman’s post, and held his breath as he reached beneath the desk.

Where the doorman’s ring of keys hung from a brass hook.

No time to crow over his good fortune, or to think about how truly insane every step of this plan was. It was a Saturday, but if Newton wasn’t home now, Hermann would simply wait in the kitchen. He didn’t wish to alarm Newton any more than was inevitable, and he had no intention of making threats. But they were both eccentrics, and part of him hoped Newt would understand how Hermann had been driven to these odd circumstances, while the other part of him admitted that he wasn’t entirely sure _he_ would understand were the situation reversed.

Anxiety swelled in Hermann’s throat as he waited for the elevator to descend, and as soon as the door opened, he ducked inside, jamming the door close button until it obeyed. Newton was on the 40th floor, the penthouse level, naturally. The head of R&D at the world’s premier arms manufacturer saw more money in a year than Hermann would make in ten at the PPDC, and Newt had never been one to deny himself any frippery.

Each floor was a nightmare of anticipation. Would the elevator stop? Would a neighbor step in, recognize Hermann as an outsider, and call security? What possible excuse could he have, with the doorman’s keyring clutched in his hand? His heart was thundering and his ears had popped by the time the elevator finished its climb and he stepped out into the carpeted hallway. His cane made no sound as he walked. The distance seemed to stretch.

All while he had traveled, Hermann had not allowed himself to dwell overmuch on anything except the absurd lengths necessary to cover his tracks if Newton had indeed ‘hacked his shit from here to next Tuesday.’ Leaving his phone in Hong Kong, changing his clothing, covering his face and laying a false trail in an effort to evade modern surveillance had all been the silly, desperate acts of a man listening to the phantoms in his head. That, and the creeping sense of _wrong_ that churned in his belly whenever he looked at the clear readouts of breach activity. Once Hermann’s suspicions were allayed, he would compartmentalize this flight of paranoia as well and scoff should it ever be mentioned again.

But there was another aspect of this trip he had not allowed himself to consider too closely for fear of losing his nerve: seeing Newton again. It was almost a year now since their engagement had ended in the late autumn of 2025, when Newton accepted the interview with Shao, never to return. Now the summer of 2026 was fading, and this might in truth be the last time he ever saw Newton. Showing up at his flat unannounced, prepared to break in if the door wasn’t answered, only added to that certainty. 

What catharsis Hermann could take from this ill-advised encounter would likely be all he would ever get, unless Newton decided to reestablish contact on his own sometime in the future. If Newton ever forgave him, and it would be within his rights not to if Hermann went through with this. He could stop now, pretend he’d found the keys lying on the floor and go about this the proper way, ringing up to see Newt, or trying his office again in the morning if he was out. Perhaps send another message to his phone likely to go unanswered, asking if he’d be interested in sharing a drink with Hermann while he was in town…

And thus waste all the effort Hermann had put into coming here in secret. If Newton truly had him under surveillance, then a line had already been crossed in violation of Hermann’s privacy. If Newton didn’t… well, it wasn’t as if he could avoid Hermann any more than he already had. 

Hermann stood in front of the door at the end of the long hallway, number four-hundred and four. There were only a handful of massive units on this level, and the doors were well set apart from each other, Newton’s the southern facing, what would offer spectacular views over the city of Shanghai. It was only then a final thought occurred to him:

Newton might not be alone.

Hermann’s knuckles hesitated at the door, then he pressed the flat of his hand against it as his shoulders sank. It was a weekend afternoon. If Newton was home relaxing, it could very well be with _her_ , the woman whose name Hermann had not bothered to remember. But that wasn’t entirely true. He had banished it from his mind as soon as it was mentioned, all out of spite. He had forced himself not to search the internet for every scrap of information he could find on her, to relentlessly judge and compare himself and scoff at who could have possibly stolen Newton’s affections. They had known each other for over a decade, what could _she_ possibly have to offer to compare to that? They had Drifted together, saved the _world_ together, been inside one another’s heads and known every scrap there was to know about another human being, and they had been in love. How could she… how could _anyone_ possibly…

They were ugly, selfish thoughts. What flaws that had led to their separation were solely his and Newton’s. If this woman had indeed “stolen” him away, then it could only be because Newton had wished to be stolen, and Hermann had been unable to keep him. No doubt she was perfectly lovely. At the very least she must have tastes that he could appreciate if they both loved the same man. That was of course if it was the man who had attracted her, and not the salary, the glow of fame and glory. Would Newton not be able to see through that sort of facade? He had always been attracted to the bright lights of stardom, could he indeed have been won with beauty, and flattery, and everything Hermann could not offer? 

A figure took shape in Hermann’s mind that he had never before allowed himself to entertain: yellow hair and striking features, red painted lips and an hourglass figure. How she would laugh as she fawned over Newton’s every word. Brilliant too, she would have to be, Newton could never suffer fools with any patience, no matter how glamorous. He’d be bored out of his skull in minutes if she wasn’t also stunningly accomplished in some way, and this was the person who potentially waited on the other side of the door. Perhaps she was here, and Newton was not, and Hermann would scare an innocent woman senseless and still not see Newton, as she ordered him out of the flat with every justification and barred the two of them from seeing one another again. 

He stood paralyzed at the prospect, unable to go back, unable to go forward except he must. He had come too far, and there was no other choice. Just as there had been no choice to allow Newton to go alone to Drift a second time, the event that had brought them into this mess in the first place, and ensured that there was a world left to make a mess of. He was not a coward, Newt had never been a coward either, except he was avoiding Hermann like one now and none of it made sense. He just needed to _know_ , just needed to…

Hermann slammed his fist down on the door, banging a rapid staccato against it that was just this side of policeman’s demand for entry, carrying with it all his anger and terror and bloody-minded determination. 

There was no answer. 

He waited, the minutes ticking by, and his heart calmed only to race anew as he realized what this meant he must do. With shaking hands, Hermann leaned the cane against the door to select the skeleton key from the ring, and insert it in the lock. He swallowed, lips drawing to a line and his brow furrowing as he turned the key and released the mechanism with a faint _click_. The door opened. 

The lights were on, robbing Hermann of any mixed relief he might have felt to enter the flat while it was empty. Making camp to wait until Newton came home was a humiliating prospect, but at least it would have given him the chance to collect himself. Newton was not such a wastrel with the Earth’s limited resources to leave the lights on, at least the man Hermann had known was not, even if he was messy in other matters. But as Hermann walked further into the flat, he began to wonder if he had come to the right place at all. 

It was by far the cleanest residence he imagined Newton had _entered_ in his life, much less resided in. Perhaps that was a product of his new partner’s touch, but the flat itself was oddly sterile. The furniture was not particularly noteworthy given Newton’s eclectic tastes. If Hermann didn’t know better, he would assume it was the staging furniture the flat was sold with. The art on the wall was bland, department store kitsch, the sofa was a low, black leather number before a heavy wooden coffee table. There was an expensive espresso maker, and a half-empty bottle of whiskey on the kitchen counter, but otherwise no sign of Newton’s usual mess of snacks and scattered work papers. Did this woman have such an iron grip on Newton’s home life as to make it so unrecognizable, or did he perhaps spend so much time at the office that he had left its design to her neat but rather dull tastes?

Last chance. He could walk out now and perhaps evade notice, grab the first flight home to Hong Kong, and be right back where he started.

“Hello?” Hermann called instead. He went silent, waiting for the shuffling sounds of life, maybe the lights really were on with no one home, when he heard it.

A soft moan, coming from the bedroom.

Hermann blushed to his ears, face scorching hot as he realized what he was hearing. He stood, paralyzed in the middle of the kitchen. There was a short stairway leading up to the bedroom but there was no door. If he shifted just a few steps to the right he would see them, and his palms began to sweat as humiliation flooded him. God, what was he supposed to do _now?_ Wait out here until they were finished? Try to interrupt? Scurry out the way he had come and pretend none of this had happened?

Whatever it was, he shouldn’t just stand here _listening_ , he shouldn’t have remained long enough to notice that something was... off. There was only one voice. One very familiar voice, whimpering.

Hermann frowned, some of the shocked embarrassment fading, and now he was listening on purpose. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t heard those sounds before, brought about by his own hand or mouth or body. And all things considered, he wasn’t nearly as much of a stickler about surprising Newton in a private moment as he was at the prospect of alarming this mystery woman. Their past cohabitation and time spent as lovers had a way of relieving one of any embarrassment about catching said former lover with his hand down his proverbial, and here from the sound of it quite _literal_ pants. Adding to that was the fury mounting in Hermann’s belly at the thought of _this_ self-indulgent man avoiding him. After all the missed meetings, leaving Hermann stupid-looking and alone in his office lobby, ignoring calls and messages until Hermann felt the humiliation to his bones, it was entirely fitting that this confrontation begin with catching _Newton_ in a vulnerable, humiliating state. 

_Kinky,_ the Newt-model whispered at the back of his mind. _You coulda told me you like to watch, Hermann_.

_Do shut up,_ Hermann shot back, and mounted the staircase. 

He saw the empty bed first, and did not have time to register relief that he had guessed correctly at the woman’s absence, before he saw the chair, and the man in it, and the thick cables connecting the crown upon his head to the unseen corner of the room. Here was the mess that had been missing from the kitchen: scattered takeout boxes and stained wrappers littered about the floor, as if Newt lived in that chair and never left it. There was Newton, with his head tipped back, lips parted and eyes closed as he twitched and moaned in ecstasy, and there across the room was a horror Hermann had hoped to never lay eyes on again: a Kaiju brain. 

Newt’s eyes opened. They were vibrant green in the yellow light of the tank, and he jerked upright at the sight of the Hermann, mouth opening and his brow furrowing in confusion. Then his eyes widened in recognition. “Hermann? Wh-What are you doing here, how did you get in?” 

“I should think the more pressing question is what the bloody hell are you doing with that disgusting thing, Newton?” It was the lab all over again, with Hermann stumbling in on Newt twitching and convulsing at the foot of a monstrosity. But Newton had never moaned with pleasure when they Drifted before, not with the first brain nor with Otachi’s baby. His reaction had not been as violent as Hermann’s, but the second time Newton had been pale and nauseous in the aftermath, not… whatever this was. 

Newt scrambled to his feet, yanking the Pons from his head and tossing it onto the chair, his movements clumsy. He put his hands flat out in front of him as if calming an animal. “Hermann, relax, I promise this isn’t what it looks like.”

“What _does_ it look like exactly, Newton?” Hermann snapped. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks as if you’re putting yourself and the entire planet at risk for a sexual _thrill_. Good God, man, don’t you realize that connection goes both ways? You work for a premier arms manufacturer, and you’re giving the Anteverse a mainline into your skull and all the knowledge it holds? What is _wrong_ with you?”

“Hermann…” Newt said helplessly. A look of terror tightened his features, which had gone sickly pale as if he would throw up, just as one _should_ after connecting to beasts from another world. 

“I’m going for help.” Hermann turned on his heels, stiffly descending the stairs. “That _thing_ needs to be properly disposed of and _you_ need to be evaluated. Lord _knows_ what are the effects of continuing to Drift with an inhuman creature like that. You’re lucky it hasn’t gone necrotic and left you braindead, though it would certainly explain your odd behavior lately! Where is your girlfriend? Does _she_ allow this?” Hermann spat and rounded on Newt from beside the kitchen counter.

He nearly jumped out of his skin to see Newt right behind him. The man had gone ashen, his expression contorted into one of visceral horror as if seeing a ghost. His lips barely moved, paralyzed, as he rasped, “Hermann, you can’t tell anyone.”

“The bloody hell I can’t!” Hermann shouted, and dearly wished he’d purchased a burner phone, but he had been loathe to risk any technology on his person. He needed to call Tendo. He needed backup. This wasn’t a confrontation over closure anymore, this was an _intervention_. How could he not have seen? How _stupid_ had he been to not guess that Newton had fallen into some dangerous, self-destructive and self-indulgent spiral? “Is this all because there are no more Kaijus out there? Are you so _desperate_ for the thrill of studying those vile things that you would hook your brain to theirs, or were you simply so addled with the money and _celebrity_ that you’ve lost what little good sense you had? Those creatures and their masters could still be out there, Newton! And you’re letting them into your mind through the front door!”

“I know, Hermann, I know,” Newt whispered. He took a tottering step forward, his movements jerky and disjointed, as if his body was not his own. He reached out an imploring hand. “I’ll do anything you want. I’ll go with you, get help, whatever just…calm down so we can talk about this.”

Hermann’s stomach dropped at Newt’s naked terror, and some of the fury left him, but in its place it left firm resolve. “Yes, you will do all those things, Newton, and more. You will walk out of this room with me and we will go straight to the hospital to get you in front of a neurologist. We can call your girlfriend to meet us along the way. Then we’re calling the PPDC to dispatch personnel to clean up that… abomination, immediately.”

Newt flinched as if hit with an electric shock, but that was only to be expected. Hermann blushed at the thought of the _sounds_ he had made when hooked up to the Kaiju brain, there could well be an element of addiction that would need to be dealt with.

Hermann’s thoughts raced, still stunned by the very presence, by the upending of all he had expected when walking in that door. But beneath it was a surge of bright relief. A Kaiju brain. Horrifying, certainly, but nothing he had not seen before. An explanation for Newt’s odd behavior. So much better and worse at once than a scene of domestic bliss, and learning he had never truly understood this man in the first place. He felt some of the tension leave his shoulders. He understood now. He could afford to be gentle.

“Ok…” Newt swallowed. His fingers drummed against his thigh and his eyes looked distant, as if overhearing a conversation in the next room. “Ok, we can do all that. Just… just let me get my jacket.”

Hermann frowned. “It’s the middle of the summer, Newton, it’s almost thirty degrees out there.”

“C-Change my shirt, whatever, I… just wait here,” Newt said and crossed the room past Hermann to the closet by the front door.

Hermann sighed internally with relief to see that at least he did not try to reenter the bedroom, then glanced out the window to give Newton a moment’s privacy while he changed. The view was magnificent, offering a sweeping vista of Shanghai, drenched in the late afternoon sunlight that was beginning to warm into the early promise of sunset.

He heard Newt’s approaching footsteps behind him, accompanied by some soft muttering under his breath. Newt always talked to himself in moments of stress, and Hermann felt a pang of regret for coming on so strong, though it was for the best, Newton always did require a stern hand before he could dig his heels in, when an arm locked around his throat. 

Hermann seized, his cane clattering to the floor as his hands flew to his throat. His nails scrabbled at the attacker, but only tore at the cloth of Newt’s shirt. He wheezed, his breath cut off by the pressure, when he heard a choked cry behind him.

“I’m sorry, Hermann, I'm so sorry,” Newton sobbed behind him. The arm tightened around his neck, and his vision reduced to a pinprick. “They’re in my…”

Darkness. 

* * *

Hermann woke bleary, head pounding and mouth tasting foul, utterly disoriented to his surroundings.

He was on the polished hardwood floor of a polished flat. City lights glistened beyond floor to ceiling windows. An ache suffused his limbs but he couldn’t move them, like he was waking from a deep sleep. 

Somewhere, a man was sobbing, his voice rising to an irregular shriek as he babbled to a second person, one who remained silent. 

“…hurt him. I will lose my entire _shit_ if you hurt him!”

Hermann frowned.

“He’s harmless. I told you, I can convince him to stay quiet, just give me a chance. No one needs to know!”

There was a sharp intake of breath.

“No, nonono, you can’t do that. You can’t. That wasn’t the deal!”’

The haze rose and fell in Hermann’s brain, he couldn’t be sure quite what he was hearing, or if he had missed something, as the one-sided conversation pitched to fevered hysteria. 

“Anything. I’ll do anything you ask. I’ll be good, I’ll be perfect even. I’m way smarter when I’m not fighting every step, I swear. This will work out for you. Just let him live. Please.”

“Why him? Jesus fuck, you guys are in my head, you tell me! He was my… lab partner, my friend. We worked together for years, he… no! No stop, it’s more than that, I swear! I will die. I will literally jump out this fucking window if you do that. He’s my… fuck. I don’t even know if we have a species parallel here, fuck me, _fuck_. He’s my… my mate! He’s my mate! God, he would hate me for saying that. Your Kaiju reproduce you must have some concept of what a mate is. Humans are connected to our mates by… never mind, you wouldn’t understand. If you kill him, I _will_ find a way to kill myself. No bullshit. And I will make life so fucking hard for you until then. You will lose your host. Just let me… let me keep him here. Alive. Please, I’ll do anything you ask.”

Silence. Punctuated only by Newton’s sobbing breaths. He was hyperventilating, he would have a panic attack if Hermann didn’t do something. He had to get up, but he couldn’t move, couldn’t…

“I don’t know, he didn’t say. Let me… let me check. Please, we can work this out even if he told someone, he doesn’t have to…” A broken sob. “Oh god, please don’t be stupid, Hermann, please.”

There was a thud as Newt fell to his knees in front of Hermann. He shifted, strained but felt the press of ropes around his wrists, binding him to the leg of the coffee table, and his ankles in front of him, locking him in place. Pain throbbed up his leg. He blinked blearily up at Newton. The man was an utter mess, faced flushed and tears and snot streaming from his face. He wiped his nose on the back of his sleeve but it did little. God, Hermann had never seen him so terrified. 

“Does anyone else know you’re here?” Newt said, his voice thick an uneven from the sobbing.

Hermann froze, searching his mind through the fog. What was the right answer? ‘Yes, my backup will be arriving any moment?’ Or the truth? He couldn’t remember. 

“No,” Hermann said, too groggy to lie. Had he doomed himself, or would lying have doomed him? “No one. Couldn’t… risk you tracking my movements. Paid in cash, took a bus to Shanghai. Left a false trail.”

Newt gave an explosive, sobbing gasp. “Oh fuck. Oh, thank fuck. Did you hear that? No one knows he’s here.”

“Newton, what… who…?” Hermann swallowed past the dryness in his throat and winced. “Who are you talking to? What’s going on?”

Newt stared at him, and then his head fell forward as he began to laugh, the sound mingling with sniffling. “You just said I shouldn’t Drift because they might see into my head, right? I guess I'm allowed to tell you now because they’re not going to let you go. They’ll kill you before they'll let you go. Hermann, they’re already _here_.”

Hermann’s eyes widened as the last of fog vanished from his mind to be replaced by understanding, and with it cold horror. He could have said the words before Newton did, as all he had failed to see came crashing down. 

_The Precursors_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! If you have a moment, please consider leaving a comment, it would mean so much.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oodles and _oodles_ of thanks to Sansael for her help beta'ing this chapter. It was an absolute _bear_ to tackle, given how much happens here, and she saved me with her help  <3
> 
> There's also a phrase just before the first line break which was inspired by the fic "Listening" by cypress_tree, which is a _fabulous_ fic that I highly recommend.

**June 9, 2025 - 14 months prior**

They stumbled through the door of their Hong Kong flat, laughing and leaning on one another. The minute it slammed shut behind them, Newt was pressing Hermann against it, layering hot kisses against his throat. The cane clattered against the wall, forgotten as Hermann began tearing at Newt’s tie, dragging it off his neck. It fell with the same lack of care to the floor, until there was a trail of discarded garments littering the few feet to the bedroom.

Hermann was seated on the bed, shirt open with Newt kneeling in front of him, his fingers making frantic work of his belt buckle when the other man froze.

“Shit,” Newt groaned and slapped his forehead. He fell back onto his heels, then began patting at his trouser pockets. “Shit, I can’t believe I forgot… I wanted to do this at the restaurant. Goddammit, I can’t believe I fucked it up!” He scrambled to his feet and half fell dashing out the door to the trail of clothing.

“Newton? Newton, get back here! What on earth…?” Hermann said. He was getting chilly and felt rather ridiculous and exposed sitting there like that, his trousers far too tight. With Newton’s absence, the heat was dissipating with every second, heat that had them dashing from the cab, flushed with the wine from dinner that night, the dinner they left before dessert to make this mad dash home for a far more _interesting_ dessert than the restaurant’s complimentary birthday cake.

Newt tripped back into the room, falling onto his knees in front of Hermann, one hand catching himself on the floor while the other stayed hidden behind his back. “Got you a present,” he wheezed.

“I thought we agreed no gifts?” Hermann huffed.

Newt grinned. “Think of this as one for both of us.” And before Hermann could catch his breath, before any tingling suspicion could make its way up his spine, Newt pulled out a black velvet box from behind his back and opened it with a flourish to reveal a simple platinum band.

Hermann stared. First at the ring, then at Newt’s grinning, expectant face. His skin pebbled in the cold. “Newton, this is preposterous. We’ve been… _together_ barely six months.”

“Or, if you look at it sideways and squint a bit, we’ve been together ten years,” Newt countered. “I mean, I don’t know about you, but _I_ wanted to bang my sexy genius pen pal preeetty much since that first letter.”

Hermann’s lips parted. This was absurd. He felt as if this moment was somehow outside reality, that he was in a bizarre dream. “We didn’t meet in person until years after that, and it was a disaster.”

Newt dismissed the protest with a wave of his free hand. “Fine, five years since we shared the lab.”

“Which was _also_ a disaster.” This couldn’t be happening. Hermann’s heart was thundering. Newton’s grin hadn’t wavered. “Need I remind you that all of… _this_ could still be the result of our Drift.” Hermann gestured to take in the room, the space between the two of them, and their scattered clothing on the floor in their shared flat down the street from the Hong Kong Shatterdome. With money flowing back to the PPDC they could afford to live outside the barracks, albeit in a flat that was too small for all their shared accouterments and which was never warm enough.

“Riiight, all the crazy hot sex, and watching shitty movies, and moving in together was awful, just terrible, and we both put up with it because of some weird never-before-seen Drift side effect. Give me a break. Admit it: we’re disgusting to everyone around us, and we’re disgusting because we’re super into each other and we have been for ages. Like, even when we hated each other it was half obnoxious sexual tension which is _why_ we were disgusting to everyone back then too.” Newt snorted, then raked a hand through his hair so it stood straight up. “Look, I already know I can survive all day, _every day_ with you when we’re biting each other’s heads off, so I _definitely_ know I can handle the rest of our lives together when we _don’t_ want to strangle each other. And the _last_ thing I want is for someone else to snatch you up because I was too chickenshit to ask when I had the chance.”

Hermann swallowed, panic welling up at the back of his throat. “The _chance_?” he scoffed.  “Oh please _,_ you can't possibly be serious. You are the most flighty, impulsive, _distracted_ man I’ve ever had the displeasure of knowing. How can I possibly believe you won’t move on to the next shiny object the moment you grow bored with…” _me_ “…this arrangement?” 

Newt’s smile faltered for the first time since the ring emerged from behind his back. “Uh, because I’ve never been this certain about anything, ever?”

“Even about the strategic value of Drifting with a Kaiju brain?” Hermann retorted. “Or about any other number of experiments that caught your fancy, only to be forgotten a week later? How can I have _any_ certainty that I’m not just another distraction, hmm? An interesting _experiment_ , ‘let’s see if bedeviling our lab partner with the false promise of a relationship is as entertaining as simply bedeviling him?’”

Newt clenched his jaw as true anger flashed across his features, as familiar to Hermann as his own face. “Really? You’re gonna play this game where you hide behind all the old bullshit arguments because you’re scared?”

Hermann bristled. “And what, _exactly_ , would I have to be ‘scared’ of, except the high probability you’ve been wasting my time on purpose, and these past months have all been some mad prank leading to this moment?”

“Scared of _yourself!_ ” Newt exploded and threw his hands in the air. The box snapped shut in his fist, and the sound shuddered through Hermann like a door slamming. “Of _us_ , of what we could _be_ together! Of what we are _right now_ if you’d just look around and see it! I _know_ you’re lying to yourself right now — _right fucking now—_ because you’re scared shitless that this might actually work, and you’ll lose your excuse to be _miserable_ all the time because you’ve got that little needling voice in your brain that says something always has to go wrong!”

“As if you know anything about what I think!” Hermann snapped, then cursed himself silently at the opening he had left for Newton to score a point even as the words left his mouth.

“Newsflash, Hermann, I know _everything_ that you think, all the time! I’ve got the grumpy bastard version of you from six months ago in my head and, _by the way_ , he is a total dick to me 24/7 because _he_ doesn’t know anything about the time we’ve had our tongues shoved down each other’s throats since the Breach closed! Except for the part where, oh wait a minute, he wanted that even _before_ we Drifted, just like I did! Seriously dude, you were repressed from here to kingdom _come_ , _why_ didn’t you just do us all a huge favor and rip my clothes off one day? And _he’s_ telling me, right now, that you’re mad you just said that because _you_ know, that _I_ know, that _you_ know we’ve been in each other’s heads so I really  _do_ know what you think, and I’m going to use that to  _immediately_ score a point!”

Newton’s voice had risen to a shriek, and his hands flailed in time with his words as if conducting an orchestra. Hermann found it oddly mesmerizing, until Newt paused, and took a deep breath. “But I’m _not_ going to do that. I don’t care about scoring stupid points anymore, because I want to be on the same _team_. So go ahead, Hermann, ask the ‘me’ in your head if I mean it. Because the version of you in mine is scared shitless, but I know he’s hoping, just a little bit, that this is real and that it could happen. Go on: ask. I’ll wait.”

Hermann realized he had stopped breathing, and forced himself to exhale. So rarely did Newt address anything in the world with any sort of gravity that when he _did_ , the sight was paralyzing. Gone were all traces of the bottle of wine they’d shared over dinner. Gone was any trace of laughter or mockery in the lines around Newton’s eyes. He was as deadly serious as Hermann had ever seen him, and a part of him—an old part of him—struggled and bristled and wanted to storm out of the room. It wanted to cower behind easy arguments and a waspish retort because Newton was not the only one who used to hide from the other behind insults and feigned anger.

Instead, Hermann closed his eyes.

 _Is he serious?_ Hermann whispered to the voice at the back of his mind, the copy of Newton that had done nothing but offer the occasional quip and commentary a few milliseconds before Newton did it beside him. He felt foolish doing so, speaking to it as if it were a separate person and not a collection of data points powered by his own consciousness.

He heard silence echo back, but it was not an empty silence. It seemed thoughtful, and perhaps… frightened.

 _Yeah. He is,_ the echo of Newton said back, and there was a breathlessness to his phantom voice. _I don’t think I’ve never seen myself that serious, about anything._

The voice retreated, and a feeling of hurt bled into the back of Hermann’s mind as if the past Newton had received this glimpse of his future self and had to withdraw to think about what he had seen.

Hermann opened his eyes. Newton was clutching the velvet box in a white-knuckled grip, watching Hermann as if expecting to hear the announcement of his own execution.

Hermann couldn’t bear to meet his eye and looked down. “Even so,” he pronounced and flinched at the shudder that went through Newton. He pressed on, “ _Even so_ , I will only accept on two conditions. One: that we’ll keep this quiet for the time being. You might change your mind later, and I don’t wish to be the butt of every joke in the Shatterdome.”

Newt froze. “Wait, was that a yes?”

“ _Second_ ,” Hermann interrupted with a pointed look. “You have to actually _ask_.”

Newt’s eyebrows shot up and his lips parted in incredulity. “What?”

The tightness in Hermann’s jaw softened. He couldn’t prevent it, not when the fluttering in his chest was growing so intense it was unbearable, and poor Newton looked as terrified as he felt. “Ask me to marry you, Newton.”

“Ask me to…oh! Oh shit!” Newt jerked as if hit with an electric shock and fumbled for the ring once more, snapping the box open and nearly shoving it up Hermann’s nose. “Hermann, baby, darling, love of my life…”

Hermann raised an unimpressed eyebrow, and Newt’s words stuttered to a halt. The shit-eating grin dropped and he retracted his hand, holding the ring close to his chest and looking down at it as if it were a lifeline.

When he began to speak again, it was with uncharacteristic softness and hesitance. “So I was exaggerating a little before. I mean, I can’t really say I’ve wanted you since the first letter…” Newt took a deep breath. “But I have since the second. Y’know, I sucked at dating when we were writing to each other? I just couldn’t focus on anyone else because… and this is going to sound so sappy, but fuck it, this is the time for it, right? Because they weren’t _you_. I built you up _so much_ in my head that when we finally met, I don’t think it _could_ have gone right, because I needed it to be _everything_ to me, because you were… everything to me. Everything that wasn’t work, or some nerdy hyper-fixation, or another diploma I could pin on my wall to try to impress people. You were the only person I wanted to impress anymore. And when I just couldn’t seem to impress you that day, I guess I realized how much I _needed_  to, and it scared me. So I took it out on you, because I was a dick, and I couldn’t handle feeling all of that at once.”

“There’s no need to dwell on the past,” Hermann murmured, but Newt held up a finger, stopping him.

“I’m going somewhere with this, I promise,” he said. “Look, you were right earlier, that meeting was a disaster. Pretty much every year after that was too, and so was sharing the lab. I know, I get it, and I promise I never wanted it to go that way. But now I’m starting to think it’s a good thing that it did? Because the war was tough, man, I mean it was fucking _brutal_. Sometimes I think our fights were the only reason I didn’t go totally bonkers. Screaming at you took the edge off, and if that edge didn’t come off it was going to be me crying under my desk for the rest of the war instead of fifteen minutes making fun of your haircut, because—and I know don’t need to tell you this—we were so well and truly _fucked_ as a species that all the data pointed to us not living out another year. And I know those fights took the edge off for you too and that’s why we _worked_. We saw the absolute fucking worst of each other, day after day, and we still stuck it out. The fact we didn’t straight-up murder one another is the surest sign I can think of that we’re soulmates.” 

Newton paused and licked his lips. “I’m glad we didn’t try to make it work in all that. I’m glad it’s something we got to have after, and it’s not all stained in our heads from the fighting and the war. I’m glad we Drifted, and I got to see all the times I thought you were being an ass but you were trying to be nice… and all the times I thought you were being nice and you were being an ass, you _jerk_. But suddenly everything made _sense_. My pen pal was there the whole time. You didn’t hate me, not really, and you’d never gone away, or left. A lot of people leave me, y’know. Boyfriends, girlfriends, friend-friends... my mom. But even when I was being a heinous little shit, you still stuck around. Hell, you even Drifted with me. You saved my life.” 

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes as if centering himself. “And I want to spend the rest of that life with you. At this point, I’m not even sure I know how to _be_ without you. When I think about trying…w-when I think about trying to do _anything_ without you, or worse, trying to do _everything_ without you, it’s all a blank. It’s not even a nightmare. I think I’d spiral, y’know? Just fall apart. And I don’t want to do that, and I don’t want to risk having to do it anyway because I didn’t tell you what being with you means to me. This isn’t some Drift side effect, this is the only life I want, and I want to spend it with you. I dunno, maybe we don’t have to actually get married _officially_ and all if you don’t want to, but it’s kinda what we’ve _got_ these days for telling someone there isn’t anyone else. And there isn’t. There isn’t anyone else, and there never could be, so… Hermann Gottlieb, will you marry me?”

Pain shuddered up Hermann’s leg as he slid off the bed to kneel in front of Newton. His whole body was shaking and he needed to steady it, so Hermann threw his arms around Newt’s shoulders and dragged him close. But that only made the trembling worse, and he realized he was sobbing unreservedly into Newt’s neck as he held on for dear life.

“Hey,” Newt’s voice cracked, and his arms came up to wrap around Hermann, and he turned his head to kiss his cheek, “if I have to actually ask, you have to actually say yes.”

“Yes,” Hermann whispered because he could barely breathe. He clutched Newt tighter, desperate to just _hold on_. Only when Newt began to disentangle him did he dare open his eyes. His cheeks were wet, and he couldn’t parse what was happening until Newt gently took his left hand.

“If this doesn’t fit, I’m going to be so fucking pissed,” Newt muttered and caught his tongue between his teeth as he slid the ring onto Hermann’s finger.

“What about yours?” Hermann said and his voice wavered more than he’d ever care to admit.

Newton’s grin was blinding. “Got an appointment at the tattoo parlor first thing tomorrow, so I’m _really_ glad you said yes. I’m up to my elbows in guts all day, and it would be just my luck if I lost it in there someday. You’d never let me live it down. I plan on getting a second tattoo when we actually get hitched, make it all official.”

“Seems rather permanent,” Hermann murmured. “What if this falls apart before we make it that far?”

“Then at least I’ll have the one ring to remember you by,” Newt said. “But seriously, I just talked for like ten minutes, did you not hear a fucking word I said? There _isn’t_ anyone else. I know you’re expecting the worst but trust me: this isn’t going to fall apart. I won’t let it.”

There was nothing Hermann could say to that. Quite literally, because his throat was so tight he couldn’t speak. He couldn’t say all the words of fear and protest that rose like judgmental shadows at the back of his mind to remind him of how all this could go wrong. Everything in his life had gone wrong, up until the day they Drifted. From the monsters that rose from the deep to destroy their world, to his injured leg that stole his chance of being a pilot, to that first terrible meeting with Newton, and all the years of disaster and fighting both inside and out that followed. 

Just this once, he didn't want to listen to those voices. Instead, he took Newton’s face in his hands, and kissed him as hard as he ever had in his life, and thought fiercely that he too would _fight_ for this.

They made love that night, and afterward, when they lay side by side in the bed, Newton wrapped around his back, pressing his face into the nape of Hermann’s neck. “I can’t wait to wake up next to you tomorrow morning,” Newt giggled against his skin. His words were muffled, drowsy and sated. “And the morning after that, and the morning after that…”

Five months later, Newt was gone.

 

* * *

 

**The Present - August 2026**

“Hermann, they’re already _here_.”

As the cold settled in Hermann’s veins, flooding them from the realization of what he was hearing, the sickened horror settling in his stomach, a single nonsensical thought rose clear amidst the babble.

 _This is why I couldn’t understand_.

He saw it as if back in that moment: the proposal, the day Newton had gone down on one knee and in his own ridiculous, messy, brave, and earnest way had asked Hermann to marry him. How Newt had said there was no one else, there never would be anyone else, that he wanted to spend their lives together. Remembered asking the echo of Newt in his mind if it was true, how the echo had confirmed it.

He remembered how he had locked that echo away when it all turned out to be lies just as he suspected all along. Just for a moment, he had dared not to fear anymore. He had locked the echo away after a gray morning he’d spent pacing their shared flat, leaving voicemail after voicemail until the inbox was full, demanding and finally begging for Newton to respond, to explain what he meant with that single, inadequate text: _It’s over_.

Another memory rose in its wake: the Kaiju brain floating in its bile-yellow tank in their shared lab. That second Drift in a ruined, rain-swept alley in Hong Kong as they stepped with eyes open into the abyss, into the very mind of the enemy. Then the day Newt had left their flat bubbling with excitement at the invitation to dissect the remains of Raiju, the last of the beasts left intact on Earth, only to come home quiet and subdued. Not long after that, he accepted the Shao offer.

No, Hermann didn’t need to hear those inevitable two words to know what had happened, the cause of Newt’s frantic sobs. He had seen those monsters in his own mind as well, viewed from a distance. A distance that Newton—with all his ridiculous obsession, his messy self-destruction, his suicidal bravery, and his earnest need to prove himself—he had never been able to maintain.

“The Precursors,” Newton said with bitter, laughing sob.

It was the only possible cause, now that Hermann could see it fully. What it _meant_ was another matter.

“Oh my God,” Hermann breathed, “what have they done to you?”

He wanted to drag Newton into his arms. He had come here to finally banish the ghost of the stranger Newt had become from his life. Foolish, the most laughable foolishness of it all, that he’d thought they could be in the same room and that time apart would exist any longer. He was back in their shared flat with Newton on one knee. He was leaning over their work table across from Newton, passing notes back and forth on for their paper on the closure of the Breach, their hands brushing and lingering because there weren’t words yet for what they wanted and what they were to each other. He was back in that alleyway, doing his best to hide his tremors as he straightened his back and told Newton he would go with him into the Drift, because the alternative was unthinkable. 

He was in Newton’s penthouse, with his wrists tied behind him, binding him to the coffee table, with Newton sobbing and shaking with fear before him. He had never seen Newton so afraid, even when he should have been, and any satisfaction he could have ever felt that Newton finally _understood_ the risks he faced was washed cold by the fact there was nothing he could do to hold him through it.

“What have they done to _me?”_ Newt choked. “Hermann, they’re going to _kill you_ if you don’t…!” His lips twisted, as if fighting around a word that his mouth couldn’t form it, before stuttering out, “…If you don’t do everything they tell you.” New closed his eyes, shaking his head and looking as if he would break into renewed sobs. Instead, he said in a tight voice, “I’m serious, Hermann, we are on such thin fucking ice right now. If you get the chance to… You have to look out for yourself, ok? Don’t do anything dangerous and, for the love of god, don’t do anything _stupid_.”

_This is a hostage situation,_ Hermann realized. He wondered at himself, at his own certainty that this was in truth some sort of Precursor influence instead of the more conventional possibility that Newton had gone mad. He should doubt more, except that he knew these creatures. Their wreckage was rotting on the shores of his mind. He could see so clearly what had happened, as realization fell piece by piece into a wretched sort of sense: there was a gun at both their heads, only the hand behind it was invisible. Creatures inside Newton’s head, the very ones that had once driven the Kaiju into their world were now driving Newt.

Except the Drift should not _work_ this way. Connecting to that rotting monstrosity in the tank should not have been able to _change_ Newton so entirely that he would leave his life behind, control him to take action against his will, any more than the echo in Hermann’s mind could do more than nag at his consciousness. But who could say what was within the capabilities of a species that had crafted monsters of such enormous size and destructive power, beings who had tunneled through the fabric of the universe itself to expand their empire? 

And they had Newton. 

Not just Newton: both of them. The enemy in the room Hermann had not been able to see but could only _feel_ was right before his eyes. It was in the last place he had searched for it, because it was the one place he had not dared entertain as a possibility. That all his lingering sentiment and pain over Newton’s abandonment could be at the confluence of his lingering, paranoid and laughable fears that the enemy had never truly left.

The idea that the Precursor could somehow influence Newt through the bond created by a Drift that took place over a year ago was too insane to be believed. It was happening before his eyes.

“Newton, calm down, it’s going to be alright,” Hermann said. His face felt stiff and paralyzed, his lips barely moved. His mind raced. “Everything will be alright. But you must untie me.”

“I can’t. They think you’ll run,” Newt groaned. 

“Just my hands, Newton. I want to touch you. You’re having a panic attack. You need to calm down,” Hermann said softly, trying to be as soothing as possible, but he had never been good at comfort.

“A _panic attack?_ Yeah. Yeah, maybe, but Hermann this isn’t fucking _anxiety_ right now. We’re so fucked. So well and truly fucked you have no idea. I fucked up. I fucked up so bad that I don’t… you don’t know what I’ve done. You have no idea what’s going to happen. If you did…”

“What?” Hermann said when Newt broke off, his eyes distant and terrified. At his words, Newt started and his gaze snapped back.

“You wouldn’t want to touch me. You wouldn’t want to be in the same room with me,” Newt said with a pained laugh.

“Whatever it is, it doesn't matter right now. It can wait,” Hermann insisted.

But a second thought rose even as he said it: _could_ it wait? The Precursors would not take control of Newton only to steal him from Hermann. Creatures that had worked to eradicate a species wouldn’t waste their time on the misery of one couple. And what could one man do, even one so intelligent as Newton? What could Newton have possibly done in less than a year to think he had earned Hermann’s disgust? No breaches had opened. There wasn’t a whisper of more Kaiju. The world made its slow, plodding way towards recovery, the healing irregular and marred by disasters and short-sightedness, but that was as it had been throughout all of history. Hermann did not concern himself with it too deeply, lest he lose himself to fury and despair.

What could possibly be done to destroy all they had built if the goal wasn’t another attack swiftly on the heels of the last? If Hermann was in the Precursor’s place, with the same goal of the destruction of life on Earth, what would he…

And then Hermann knew.

His head shot up. “Shao Industries. They’re targeting the Jaegers.”

Whether it was to use them in an attack or simple sabotage so they would break down at a critical moment when humanity faced another invasion, it didn’t matter. The blow would be devastating. It could mean the end of all life as they knew it. And there was no individual better suited than the linchpin of all technology at that massive corporation: their head of R&D.

Newt’s eyes widened, then he dropped his head forward and gave a ragged chuckle. “Well done, Hermann, you figured it out.” He shuddered, and when he looked up again his expression was pinched. “And now they _really_ won’t let you go. _Dammit_ , for just _once_ in your fucking life can you not… be so fucking _smart?_ ” Newt groaned. “God, they’re only letting me say that because it’s too late to change their mind. Hermann, they don’t trust you, not an inch. And you can't…” He choked off again.

Newt coughed, gagged a little, and settled back on his heels. He scrubbed a hand over his face, then ran it back through his hair to smooth it. “They think you might have led someone here. You said you came by bus and covered your tracks, but I need to understand how, and I need _specifics_. If we don’t convince them that you did enough or, fucking hell, if you _didn’t_ do enough, we’re going to have a problem.”

Of course, Hermann had covered his tracks, but the realization was settling, heavy and sickening in his gut just how great an error he had made in doing so. There was no help coming. There was no time to take care of Newton right now, not if he had already been working at Shao Industries for a year. Hermann had to escape and warn the PPDC, or else…

The destruction could be unimaginable.

Hermann forced his expression to neutrality but felt as if the air had been driven from his lungs as he looked up at Newton, his Newton, and realized he _couldn't_ stay and help. He had to run, right now, before any further steps could be taken to trap him here. Even if it ripped Hermann’s heart from his chest, the answer was simple mathematics: two souls measured against the worth of billions. Even if one of those souls was Newton. He needed to think logically, as he would have before they Drifted, before Newton’s life had become more dear to him than his own.

“Hermann, are you listening?”

He started and shook his head to rouse himself. “I understand. What do you need from me?”

“Locations, times, dates. License plates, if you have them,” Newton said as he ticked off on his fingers. His eyes were red-rimmed, but the distress seemed to have vanished. Hermann didn’t know what to make of that. Newt’s moods had always been chaotic, but at least his sudden calm made this easier. He just needed to keep Newton talking, which had never been a difficult task.

Hermann shifted and winced as pain shot up his sciatic nerve from having his legs bound in front of him. The tie that bound his hands behind was silk, impossible to tear, but slick enough to work open. All the while, he spoke. “I took a cab from the Hong Kong Shatterdome to the central bus station. My ticket was pre-arranged to take me to the harbor for a ferry to Taipei for a conference, but while there I purchased a bus ticket for Quanzhou and paid cash. However, I switched buses once more along the way. If you fetch a map, I can show you my transfer points.”

“Just name them,” Newt said flatly. Had his gaze been so hard before, or was that hard gleam just the remnants of his tears?

“I don’t remember the names of all the stops, but I recall the route,” Hermann licked his lips and continued. He named the stops he could remember, all while his fingers worked at the silk knot around his wrist. He did not dare lie. It would take more effort to lie than tell the truth, and it would arouse suspicion if he hesitated too long. It was difficult enough to focus on untying the knot while speaking as it was.

Hermann felt the moment it loosened, just a hairsbreadth. Enough to slip his fingers out. He would have to be quick with the knot around his ankles. Spasms of pain radiated up his leg, and he wasn’t sure he could make it the distance to the door. He had to try. If he could just get to a neighbor's door, or even just escape the flat, the hallways in a luxury building such as this likely had security cameras, and the creatures would have to drag him back, which would alarm any security guard who saw the footage. He didn’t have to go far, he didn’t have to get out of the building. Just out the door.

“My last stop was the coffee shop outside your building. You can see it from the window,” Hermann finished, nodding towards the tall windows that overlooked the city of Shanghai.

Newton glanced out the window to follow Hermann’s gesture, and at that moment, Hermann moved.

His fingers wrenched as he slipped from of the bonds, and he yanked off the tie that encircled his ankles, ignoring the lightning-bolt of pain that shuddered through his body as he lurched to his feet. He barreled past Newton, watched him turn at the sound as if in slow motion. Adrenaline pumped through Hermann’s body so that everything was slow and dreamlike. Far too slow. The door was still too far away. A few more steps, he just needed to make it a few more steps…

Hermann’s collar jerked, choking him, and he glimpsed the ceiling as he fell. There was a hand on his throat, a hand on his chest, and the air drove from his lungs as his back slammed against the floor and the impact shuddered through his body.

He stared, blinking upward, chest heaving for air that wouldn’t fill his lungs. The movement had been so swift, so precise, there was no universe in which Newton—frantic, eager Newton—could move with such deadly efficiency. Rough fingers closed around his throat, pinning him to the ground.

Hermann choked and clawed at the hands at his throat. His back began to slide across the floor back towards the coffee table, and his vision speckled black as he was lifted from the ground, slammed back against the table leg. The strength was unnatural. Newt had never been particularly fit, certainly not enough to lift a grown man one-handed.

“Oh, Hermann. Hermann, Hermann,” Newt said in a sing-song. He pressed Hermann one-handed against the table, with a pressure that was like being pinned to a wall by a car, and rooted behind him for the fallen tie. He only let go of Hermann’s chest long enough to wrap the tie once more around his ankles, the pain blinding as Newt wrenched the bad leg into parallel with Hermann's good one. “What was it I just said about not doing anything stupid? That? That was stupid. I suppose it’s only natural that you should try, at least once. But now that you’ve gotten that out of your system, I think it’s time we had a little _chat_ about consequences. He wasn’t kidding about that you know—I wasn’t. Ha. See, there you go. There’s the problem.”

Newt’s hand clenched around Hermann’s throat, cutting off his air and slamming him back against the table, bending him back, and it was Newton, but not Newton at all, the voice was not his at all but an inhuman, guttural snarl, “ _You should never assume we aren’t here._ ”

Hermann’s lips parted. Terror, pure and animalistic, roared through him, the terror of a mouse captured by a hawk. His fingers formed into claws and he was tearing at Newton’s hands, pressing back against table, to do _anything_ to escape that inhuman voice. He felt skin tear beneath his hands, as it curled under his fingernails, and only then did a whispered thought separate from the jabbering horror in his mind.  _This is still Newton's body_.

His vision was blackening at the edges, the strength leaving his body, but he couldn’t do it. The thought was fuzzy and nonsensical, but he couldn’t hurt Newton, he couldn’t tear like this at his hands, his poor hands. Instead, Hermann closed his fingers over Newt’s, and rubbed his thumb over the back of the knuckles, the only embrace he’d been allowed, their first after so many months alone.

The pressure on Hermann’s throat eased, just enough for him to gulp down a breath. Oxygen flooding his brain, an electric shock to his system, bringing once more into full clarity the twisted face above him.

“ _How touching._ ” The creature wearing Newt’s face leered. “ _You won’t hurt him, even to save your life? Very useful in a pet._ ” It shifted, and idly placing one hand on Hermann’s chest with no less strength, no less paralyzing power to hold him there, and scraped Newt’s hair back from its face with the other to smooth it.

When it spoke again, its voice had dropped back down to Newton’s register. “He’s made a deal with us for your safety, and for now it would be _inconvenient_ to test how excitable he could be if we removed you as a distraction. He can be so  _very_ _excitable_ , you know. But…” it held up the hand that Hermann had clawed at to inspect it. There were shallow red scratches on the back, prickled with blood. The creature reached over and absently wiped the blood off the back of Newt’s hand onto Hermann’s shirt, “…you’ve made no provisions for him. Little displays like that? Those can make life _very_ hard for him. So consider next time how you want him to spend the final years of your planet. They can be easy, pleasant even. We’ve seen to his every comfort, after all. But all we really need is his health. His last years can be also very _hard_.”

It reached behind Hermann, and plucking the second tie from the ground, then it seized his wrists in both hands, retying the knot so tight it left his fingers bloodless and white. Once he was bound again, it smiled at Hermann, a strange and lopsided grin with a sliver of teeth, as if it had learned how to smile from observation and never quite mastered the art. “ _Capisce_?”

Hermann nodded. He was losing feeling in his hands and feet, but the creature looked satisfied. It took Newton’s phone from his jacket's inner pocket, and began typing something Hermann could not make out on the screen, chatting amiably as it did so.

“While we’re on the subject, it will be best for everyone if you do not interrupt his work. A pet we can tolerate, but only if you stay out of the way. Serve as a distraction, or otherwise slow him down? Then we will need to speak again, and you will find that neither of you like it very much when we need to _speak_.”

It gave him a pointed look, then glanced back at the phone and hummed thoughtfully. Another minute passed as it typed out whatever it was working on before glancing up again after it was apparently satisfied. “Oh, and Dr. Gottlieb… that is your preferred title, right? You see, that voice of yours in here is so _insistent_ on that topic,” it said, tapping at Newt’s forehead. “Just a reminder: if you try to escape, we will kill you. If you find some way to reveal our presence, we will simply disappear and take him with us. You will never see him again, and you will at best have delayed our work by a few paltry years. If at any point we suspect, as he does at this very moment, that you are _planning_ to do either of those things, then his deal is void as are any protections you might currently enjoy.”

Hermann swallowed, dizziness sweeping him with the creature’s words. To be threatened by the Precursors—the creatures that had driven the Kaiju to destroy his world, that he had fought for over a decade—with words that were altogether too human and yet not human at all was surreal. The world felt surreal. He wondered vaguely if he was about to pass out. “What have you done to Newton?” he croaked.

“Done to _him?_ ” the creature said as if surprised. It reached down, and grabbed Hermann’s chin in its hand, tilting it upward with a grip tight enough to bruise and wrenching Hermann’s head back. “ _Are you so certain you’ve spoken to him at all?_ ”

Hermann whimpered, recoiling and finding himself unable to escape that alien snarl that aroused every prey instinct in his body to _run_. The creature smirked at him, and let its hand drop. “ _Remember that, next time you think to test our patience. We are always here. We are always watching._ ”

It dropped the mobile back into the inner pocket of Newton’s jacket, and closed its eyes. “… trust me, Hermann, don’t…!” Newton stumbled, and his eyes flew open as he caught his balance, and looked wildly around the room, then back to Hermann on the floor.

His eyes widened in understanding, and then his expression crumpled as if he was about to cry. “Shit. Oh shit, they did that thing again. Are you ok? How long have I been out?”

Hermann gaped up at him, mouth too dry with fear to say a word. Was that a flash of calculation he had seen in Newton’s eyes, like the shadow of a sea monster glimpsed beneath the surface of the water? It would kill him if he tried to escape. It would kill him if he thought of trying to escape. And Newton… Newton had been inside his mind. Could he predict Hermann’s every thought with the same precision as Hermann could his, prodding at the model of Hermann left in his mind from the Drift? His every thought laid bare by a parallel process in another being’s brain?

Was this even Newton right now?

At Hermann’s continued silence, Newt chewed the inside of his cheek and looked away, fidgeting before he pulled out his cell phone and glanced at the screen. “Just a few minutes this time, I guess.” He frowned, flicking through the apps, then grimaced. “And they ordered a bunch of shit while I was out, dammit. This is going to look so fucking suspicious if I don’t…”

He stuck his tongue between his teeth, clicking with his thumb until whatever he had done satisfied him, then shot a guilty look back at Hermann. “They still, uh, they still don’t always _get_ how things work here, y’know? If I order all this…” Newton read silently down the list, and let out a slow breath, going slightly pale before he looked back with a forced grin. “I mean, it’s going to be fucking obvious right away that something is up at _Chez_ Geiszler. We’re going to need to be on the down-low so people don’t start looking here first. It’s always the boyfriend in the crime shows, right? We’ve probably only got a couple days as is before people realize you never got to that conference, you’re kind of a famous dude. At least _I’ve_ got a solid alibi, since I never _left my damn house.”_ Newton shot him a queasy grin, as if expecting Hermann to laugh along.

Only when Hermann remained silent did Newt seem to notice the ties binding Hermann’s hands, gone bloodless and white, and Newt went pale to match them at the sight. “Oh fuck, are you ok? Did they…? Here let me… just… let me…”

Newt scrambled to his feet, dashing unsteadily back into the bedroom. Hermann almost shouted after him in fear at the sight of him going back to that _thing_ in the tank, but he emerged only a few minutes later. There was a glass of water in his hand, with traces of white powder still dissolving in the liquid.

“Relax, it’s just a painkiller. Plus, if you don’t have some water soon anyway you’re going to get dehydrated on top of all this other crap,” Newt muttered as he knelt once more before Hermann. “I can’t… they’re not going to let me untie you, but I know that can’t feel good on your leg and… Listen, just take it, ok? It’ll help.”

Hermann eyed him. His mouth was parched and the pain throbbed up his leg. There was nothing he could do to refuse. If Newt wished to force him he could simply pinch Hermann’s nose and pour the concoction down his throat, perhaps drown him in the process. If Newton... no, if _they_ wished to kill him, they could have done so easily before now. Why poison him?

Hermann leaned his head forward and accepted as Newt put the rim of the glass to his lips and gently tilted it back. An idle thought drifted across Hermann’s mind, that one of Newton’s PhDs had been in medicine. He wondered if it was a total lack of bedside manner that had sent him out in search of other fields. He could still taste traces of powder in the water. Nevertheless, he sipped it down to the dregs.

He studied Newton as the empty glass left his lips. A trickle leaked down Hermann’s chin, but he had no hand free to wipe it away. Newton’s eyes tracked the droplet, his expression twisting into something nameless and yearning, and his knuckles whitened around the glass. He was shaking, and the sight made Hermann’s heart twist, made him want to reach out, except...

Except this might not truly be Newton at all.

“Newton,” Hermann croaked, and Newton’s head shot up from where he had been staring at Hermann’s lips. “Just tell me one thing. I have to know….”

Newt swallowed and grimaced as he down at the glass in his hand. “What is it?”

“Are you helping them willingly?”

A confused grin flickered at the corner of Newt’s lips, then fell, then attempted to return before his whole face twisted into outrage. “ _Helping_ them? You think… _you_ of all people, think that I’m helping _them?_ That I would _ever_ help them?”

“That’s not what I said,” Hermann insisted. “I don’t know how this happened, Newton. I don’t understand what's going on. But I have to know, before we can go any further along this road, if…”

“Yeah, I get it,” Newt snapped. “You need to know if I... what? Jumped ship the second they were back because I’m such a pathetic _Kaiju groupie_ that I’d sacrifice _everything_ I worked for, leave _everyone_ I…” Newt stopped, his eyes glistened as he looked at Hermann, “Leave everyone I worked with, just to touch brains with them one more time? _Fuck you_ if you think that. You have no _fucking_ idea what I’ve just sacrificed because you came stumbling into my apartment like a jackass. I don’t think _either_ of us really knows yet what the _world_ might have just lost. _Helping_ them? I’ve been fighting…” Newt choked. “I have been fighting them with _everything_ I have for _a year_ , but I don’t get to do that anymore! Because _you’re_ here. Because I have to protect _you_ now. Because I told them I’d stop fighting if they let you live. And the only reason they’re letting me say any of this to you is so you don’t do something stupid that will get you killed because they’re actually _big fans_ of this new arrangement and the idea that they won’t have to fight me for every _inch_ , for every _scrap_ of my brain, every day!”

“Then you must fight them _harder_ , Newton!” Hermann said and jerked forward. Pain lanced up his outstretched bound arms and legs, but it was less severe than before. “If they are indeed allowing you to tell me this, then it’s because you are playing into their hands! You’ve allowed yourself to believe you aren’t strong enough, but you are! I’ve been inside your mind too, Newton. I _know_ you can do this. You must fight!”

Newt stared at him in shock. Then he began to laugh. A high, hysterical bark that dissolved into pained giggles, and he was wiping his eyes with his fingers. “Seriously? Man, you say you hate poetry, but that was the most romantic crap I’ve ever heard. What do you think this is, a fairytale? You think some bullshit like the 'power of love' is gonna be enough? That having you here to cheerlead me from the sidelines will change everything? It's not like I haven’t had a good enough reason to fight them with _everything I have_ from the minute they got me!”

Hermann felt a wave of wooziness and shook his head to clear it. “There must be a way to fight off their control, just for a few seconds, enough to call for help…” He bit his lip and wondered if this was already too far to even mention escape again. If that would be enough to bring them back out, but he had to try. Perhaps they were bullies, relying on intimidation, with very little real power… but then he remembered too that awful strength. Maybe if Newton could hold them back just a few seconds, Hermann could make another run, or take the cell phone from him…

“Sure, fight them for a few seconds, I’ll just _do that_. Good thing you’re around now, Hermann, I never would have thought of _that_ plan on my own,” Newt snapped. He reached into his pocket and held up his phone, then glanced up at the ceiling in annoyance. “It’s a _demonstration_ , you fascists. Just give me a moment to make a point!” Newt tapped at the screen and held it up for Hermann’s inspection. “Oh look, it’s Tendo’s number. Surely _he’ll_ know what to do! If only I could call him. I could even let you do the talking!” Newt plastered on a broad smile that didn’t reach his eyes, and raised one finger with a flourish, pointing it at the call button. Hermann leaned forward despite himself, his heart in his throat.

Newt froze.

His finger was only a centimeter from the send button on the mobile. Above it, a picture of Tendo’s face captured at an unflattering angle at some PPDC party years ago. If Newton swayed even a little, even if he _dropped_ the phone, it might be enough to call out.

Newton’s body strained. His finger shook, and the tiny veins stood out red in his eyes. His teeth flash white as he clenched them, struggling as if trying to push through a steel wall with his bare hands. The hand holding the phone did not shake at all. The tip of his finger never got even a hairsbreadth closer to the phone.

Newton released an explosive gasp and sagged, then with a snarl of disgust he shoved the mobile back into his pocket. “See? This isn’t about _trying harder,_ Hermann. It’s not about _believing in yourself_. I know. I’ve tried. This is about being a hilariously outclassed little bug trying to arm wrestle an entire alien hive mind. I’ll let you know when that changes.”

Hermann had pressed back against the coffee table, his brain desperately trying to process what he had just seen. He felt as if he was thinking through a fog. There had been such strain on Newt’s features, but what if all this was a show put on by the Precursors, attempting to sap Hermann of his will to fight back? “How do I even know it’s you saying all this?” Hermann breathed.

The mocking grin fell from Newt’s face, and slowly he shook his head. “You don’t. Sometimes… Sometimes they push me down so deep I can’t see out my own eyeballs, Hermann. I don’t know what they do when I’m not here.” Fear tightened his features. “Which is what I mean when I say you’ve gotta play it cool, ok? We just gotta survive, play along until the PPDC catches up to me at the end and _maybe_ , if I’m lucky, they’ll believe it wasn’t my idea.”

“The PPDC? Why would they…” Hermann slurred. “They’ve already begun their attack, haven’t they? Shao Industries. Newton, what are they planning at Shao?”

Newt opened his mouth then shrugged helplessly. “That’s classified. But it’s gonna be big, Herms. Real big. That’s if it even works, or they don’t get caught before then. They seem to think I can pull it off even though I’m just one guy. It's kinda flattering actually, though not really what I meant back when I said I wished I had a boss who believed in me.” Newt fidgeted, and took out the phone again, glancing back at Hermann with an unreadable expression. “How you feelin’ over there, buddy?”

“I…Newton… I….” Hermann’s head jerked upward. He had been nodding. When had that happened? _How_ had that happened? “Those weren’t painkillers.”

Newt grimaced. “I had to guess the dosage, but you don’t look like you’ve gained any weight since we… since we lived together. Should be kicking in any second now.”

Hermann started forward but felt as if he was pushing through water. His brain was cloudy, but he forced out the words, “What did you just do?”

“Don’t worry, it’s just a few sleeping pills.” Newt wouldn’t meet his eye. “I had some lying around. Weird how having a bunch of aliens in your head makes it hard to sleep sometimes, even when you’ve got that important meeting in the morning. There’s some stuff I need to do if we’re gonna be roommates again, and…” Hermann’s eyelids fluttered, he could barely keep them open, but he thought he saw a glimpse beneath Newton’s hesitation, something scared and aching and purely _Newton_. Had anything except that flash really been him? “… I, uh, I’m gonna need you out for that part.”

Hermann’s head drooped. And he tried to force it up, tried to stay on or perhaps fake sleeping until Newton’s guard was down so he could make a dash. But night was falling outside, darkness descending, and exhaustion was a paralytic. His breath evened and slowed, and he tried to call out once to Newton, tried to beg him one more time to…

* * *

“Morning, sunshine,” Hermann’s eyelashes fluttered open, and he winced as, indeed, bright sunlight bathed the strange room in front of him. There was a coffee table and an oversized TV on the wall, and Newton was there, sitting at the far end of a high countertop in the kitchen, his laptop out before him. It hardly looked like a conference hotel. Where were they…?

And the memory of the day before dropped fully formed into his mind. The Kaiju brain. The Precursors. Newton, laughing and weeping by turns, straining to move in a prison of air.

“I thought you said you _covered your tracks_ , dude. What is this, amateur hour?” Newt grumbled. He jabbed his finger at the screen. “You left CCTV footage _everywhere._ I’ve been scrubbing all morning and I’ve barely finished the goddamn Hong Kong _bus_ _station_.”

 _My deepest apologies that I wasn’t more adept at organizing my own kidnapping,_ Hermann opened his mouth to say and stopped himself. Talking. Talking was what had given the Precursors… had given Newt the ability to find those tracks and cover them further. Hermann had done a beginner's best, but now the steps he had taken such pains to achieve to not tip Newt off to his arrival mocked him. If he had not given in to their questioning yesterday, if he had only dared to _lie_ instead of making that foolish, transparent attempt to escape, then the tracks of any investigation might indeed have led here.

Now as he looked on at Newt muttering to himself as his fingers tapped at the screen and flicking through images, he could only hope Newt or the creatures piloting him would make some sort of mistake to lead to discovery. If they could only get someone to find them…

… Then Newton could well be locked up. If the PPDC found the brain in Newton’s bedroom, or if Hermann managed to convince them of Newton’s… good God, was the best word for it “possession”, as if by some demon? How could the PPDC even begin to treat him? Like much of the bleeding edge of K-Science, where he and Newton had once spent their days, Newt could well be viewed with nothing but fear. Locked away for the rest of his life and studied like an animal.

It might mean the salvation of the world, but surely there had to be another way before that? Surely there had to be a way to get Newton _out,_ to get them both _out_ , without resorting to ignorant outsiders? They _must_ have time left before the Precursor’s plan, whatever it was, came to fruition. Time enough to free Newton of their influence, so that he could not be seen as a willing accessory to any havoc they had wrought.

He needed to _understand_. What were the limits of their control? What were they planning? How had they done this? _What_ had they done to Newton?

“I was thinking after I’m done with this I could pick us up some breakfast? You haven’t had anything to eat since yesterday, and I know those sleeping pills can be brutal on an empty stomach. The bathroom’s over there, by the way, if you want to take a shower. I checked that you’d be able reach it, you just won’t be able to close the door. Sorry about that. Just let me know if you need some privacy and I’ll get out of your way,” Newt nattered on, his eyes not wavering from the screen, as if this was just there morning chatter over coffee a lifetime ago.

Hermann barely heard him. At the words, _be able to reach it_ , he had finally noticed the chain on the ground twining in serpentine loops to a hook in the middle of the living room floor. It had not been there the day before, and it lead towards him, up to the couch where he sat with his hands and ankles unbound, though bruises purpled on his bony wrists. Only then did he feel it through the haze.

A weight hanging around his throat.

Hermann moved as if sleepwalking, the fog still heavy in his brain from the pills, as his hand drifted up to clench around the… the collar wrapped around his throat. There was soft fabric between the cold metal and his skin, but there was no doubt that he was bound. His fingers felt instinctively for a seam, a way to release the mechanism, knowing already that it would not be there but still finding the lumpy, soldered metal that bound the steel band shut.

“You should probably take the cushion off before you shower so it doesn’t get wet,” Newt said. “But that… uh, that needs to stay on. I got the lightest one I could find. It’s meant for hanging up paintings so I’ve got this big ugly landscape piece on its way here, eccentric rich guy stuff, y’know? That should cover up all the shit they ordered like the chain and the hook over there. Idiots probably didn’t realize that your purchase history is like, the first thing a bunch of investigators would look into before showing up with a warrant. It drives me nuts when the Precursors do shit like that without checking with me.” Newt paused, looking guiltily at Hermann out of the corner of his eyes. “It’s, um, still pretty strong though, so maybe don’t try to break it or anything? You’ll just hurt yourself, and there’s not much I can do about that.”

Hermann stared at Newt. He could feel the blood drain from his face. His brain, his damnable brain that he had thought so _clever_ , that had brought him here in the first place, was already calculating the length of the chain by sight. The radius would be enough for him to reach the refrigerator, the sink in the kitchen, and the bathroom in the living room as well as the couch where he sat. It would not allow him to reach the door, or the far end of the kitchen counter where Newton sat with his laptop. There was nothing within reach that Hermann could use to call out, and the room had been scrubbed as if child-proofed for any sharp or heavy object, except the furniture which he was not strong enough to move.

“So whaddya say, breakfast? There’s this pretty good French bakery down the street, I could grab us something…?”

Whatever Newton thought to “grab” for them, Hermann did not hear it. He rose to his feet like a shot and stumbled. His cane. His cane was nowhere in sight, but it didn’t matter. He stormed into the bathroom, his chest searing from the panic that burned in his veins and tightened his lungs. He couldn’t think, he only knew he couldn’t bear to look at Newton right now.

The chain drew tight as he stumbled onto the cool white tiles, the links just long enough that he could step into the glass-walled shower, but indeed he would not be able to close the door with the chain blocking it. He grabbed the sink with both hands to steady himself as his leg trembled and threatened to give out. Nausea and horror twisted in his stomach, and before he could stop himself he was bent over, retching into the sink, but brought up only bile and water.

When the retching ceased he was trembling, his skin clammy, and Hermann looked up at himself in the mirror to see a ghost staring back. His face was pale except for his black, haunted eyes staring back at him, his lips shining with spittle. The collar hung from his throat, the chain trailing down in a diagonal across his chest, back towards the hook on the floor. His trembling returned at the sight of it, and he hunched over the sink as the reality crashed around him.

What did his _plans_ matter—all those terribly clever _plans_ to rescue Newt, or himself, or the _world—_ what did any of it matter if he could not move beyond this flat? When the Precursors had taken control of the situation while he lay insensate, prey to his own instinct to trust Newton. He shouldn’t have accepted the water. He should have _made_ them drown him. At least if he was dead, Newton would be able to _fight_ once more.

“Hermann! Are you ok in there?” Newt’s voice came shrill from the other room.

Hermann’s lips parted to answer him, the knee-jerk reaction to assure him he was fine as if this were any other morning at home. But this wasn’t any other morning, this wasn’t their home. This might not even be Newton at any given time and he didn’t _know_. He didn’t know _anything_ and he had stumbled into this trap with his heart on his sleeve and his brain left behind, ignoring _every_ warning sign that this was not the man he had known. So _proud_ of himself for his _cleverness_ at covering his tracks. So _certain_ he would finally get the closure that was his greatest priority in the stodgy, meaningless existence he had built for himself from the ruins of the life they'd thought to build together.

And all the while Newton had been here, alone with these creatures, _working_ for them and now they were _both_ playing into their hands. With every word he spoke he gave them more chains to bind the two of them. With every ounce of love he held for Newton, or Newton for him if there was anything of it left, they gave those creatures more powerful means to puppet them to their own ends. To the end of the world itself, the world they had fought ten years to save, that was now under assault once more but quietly, secretly. They were accessories to that end now unless he _did_ something. Unless he stopped them, but _how?_

There was motion out of the corner of his eye, and Hermann turned to see Newton clutching a packaged toothbrush and a tube of toothpaste. At the sight of Hermann he gripped them tighter and looked away, before holding them out without meeting Hermann’s eye. “I had a spare. Umm, I’ll just… I’ll just go get us that breakfast now, unless… unless you want some help here?”

Hermann stared at him, saying nothing. Newton’s fingers began to drum a rapid staccato against the packaging, then he darted forward and placed the items on the edge of the sink before retreating without another word. Hermann watched him go, and only once he heard the door slam did he pick them up, and rip the toothbrush out of the package to wash out his mouth, proceeding mechanically through the rote steps of a morning ritual.

When Newton returned, Hermann was sitting on the couch, staring dully at the black TV screen. He needed a plan. There was no plan. He needed data. He had none. He did not understand any of this and there was nothing to be done until he did. He heard Newton speak as if from far away but did not try to parse his words. He needed to think. It was impossible.

Hermann saw Newton move out of the corner of his eyes, his movements growing inquisitive, then agitated, then frantic as he slammed the laptop shut and excused himself. He took the laptop with him to the bedroom, out of Hermann’s reach, and did not emerge, leaving Hermann alone as the sun crawled across the sky and the first hours of his imprisonment ticked by.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was an absolute bear to pull together, so if you find yourself with the time to leave a comment, I would so very much appreciate it and it would make the whole effort worthwhile! Thank you!


	4. Chapter 4

**January 3, 2025 -  19 months prior**

“You know that new Jaeger pilot, what’s his face, that star football player looking dude?” Newt said. He’d begun gnawing on the end of a pen and his brows furrowed in concentration.

Hermann sighed. The scratch of his chalk on the board did not cease. He’d long since learned to multi-task, else he'd get nothing done whenever Newton felt the sudden urge to fill the silence, which was always. “Do you mean Ranger Becket? Yes, what about him?”

“I may have been a little hard on the guy,” Newt muttered. “He’s the one who was still strapped in when his co-pilot died, right? Nasty stuff. Do you know what actually happens when one partner dies in the Drift while they’re still connected like that?”

“No, but I imagine you’re going to tell me,” Hermann replied.

“So humans don’t have ESP, right? That’s simple, basic, but there’s all this anecdotal stuff about the ghost Drift with Jaeger pilots hearing what the other is thinking and like, spooky haunted Jaegers that move when no one is around,” Newt nattered on, while Hermann paid half an ear. He admitted he was somewhat curious as to what Ranger Becket had experienced, but as usual Newt needed to talk himself in several circles before he warmed up to the actual point. “All bullshit. There’s conclusive evidence that every instance of unattended Jaegers activating was from programming glitches. Present company not fucking excluded, but those things are trillions of lines of code and they get bugs like anything else. And the ESP stuff? Total superstition. Really what you get is this weird, uh, carbon copy in the other person’s brain and that’s what's actually doing the talking. The copy diverges and deteriorates over time, since it's just your own brain powering the memories, and it gets all complicated with compatibility and how if you don’t have enough with your Drift partner, your brain dumps all the stuff it can’t handle and you get nice things like cerebral hemorrhage, strokes, aneurysms, _blahblahblah_ , the point is…”

“Ranger Becket,” Hermann supplied, though he made no effort to keep the exasperation from his voice.  

“Right! The point is, the only time the connection is _live_ between two pilots is when they’re connected through the Drift,” Newt said. “Otherwise, it’s just the static copy. It’s like, uh, like when you backup your hard drive? So until you Drift again, nothing recent is backed up, and since your most recent stuff isn’t saved…”

“I’m familiar with the concept of backing up a hard drive, Newton,” Hermann sighed.

“Really? Coulda fooled me with those chalkboards. Are you a time traveler? Quick, what century is it? Does the word ‘internet’ mean anything to you? Never mind, so the thing is: because Mr. Star Athelete over there was still plugged in with his co-pilot…”

“He was still receiving the live updates of his brother’s thoughts, up to and including the moment of death,” Hermann finished, suddenly queasy at the thought. “So you’re saying that poor man experienced his brother’s passing as if it were his own, and then lived to remember it?”

“Yeah! Must have been wild. Do you think he wrote any of it down?” Newt exclaimed. “I’m just saying, the scientific value is off the charts. It’d be a shame if he gets blown up during Pitfall and all that knowledge gets lost with him.”

“Newton, don’t be gauche. There are reasons beyond _scientific value_ that it would not only be a shame but a tragedy,” Hermann snapped. He finally deigned to look over his shoulder to glare at his lab partner. “And need I remind you that if Ranger Becket dies, he will likely not be the only one?”

“Everyone dies, Herms,” Newton said dismissively but he did not look up from his work table or meet Hermann’s eye. He’d been tinkering on some bloody contraption all day, and only now did a prickling of trepidation tingle at the back of Hermann’s neck. What on earth _was_ he building over there? “And probably _really soon_ if this Hail Mary of Pentecost’s doesn’t work. It’s going to take more than throwing a bunch of Jaeger pilots at the problem too if we’re going to make it. We all gotta throw something in.”

“That’s no excuse to be reckless,” Hermann said and felt he and Newt were no longer having the same conversation. “We should be careful with the steps we take to close the Breach. There’s only so many of us left, many with skills that are irreplaceable at this critical juncture.”

“Hey, who’s being reckless?” Newt shrugged. “You heard the Marshal, I can’t have the equipment. Everyone’s all in for your little crystal ball predictions over there.”

“ _Newton_ ,” Hermann growled, then stopped himself with a sigh. If the man couldn’t see that Hermann’s reservations about a human-Kaiju Drift went beyond whether or not he believed it would _work_ , then there was no point in illuminating him. Newton was too self-centered to think of how his life impacted those around him and it certainly wasn’t Hermann’s job to point that out. “I wasn’t aware we were talking about your daft plan at all.” A blatant lie. “You were the one who chose to bring up the Jaeger pilots. Why this continued interest in Drifting? Shouldn’t you go back to studying your latest _samples_ , if only to prove conclusively that there’s nothing of value to be found there?”

“Hey, _you’re_ the one always telling me to leave off studying the Kaiju, man,” Newt said. “And everyone’s got a hard-on for the Drift. Maybe I’m just seeing what all the fuss is about, pick up a seventh Ph.D. while I’m at it. I’m gonna need a new career path if we survive this once the Breach gets closed.”

“And I will laud your efforts if that’s the case, it would certainly be a more useful topic for your intellect,” Hermann said dryly. “Only perhaps leave off on the self-experimentation this time, hmm?”

“Live fast, die young, leave a beautiful corpse,” Newt quoted. He flashed his colorful forearms with their twining display of Kaijus. “Why do you think I got all these if not to go out like a rockstar?”

Hermann’s lips firmed to a line. They were not going to have this debate again. He didn’t truly think Newt even believed it. The man had once whined for two hours straight over a paper cut. But he knew the topic of lab safety, or lack thereof, was always enough to drive Hermann mad. “There are many worse outcomes to self-experimentation than _death_ , Newton, and I only pray you will not one day find out what those are.”

“Not much chance I'll have time to find out what those are, Herms,” Newt said. “Or did you forget the giant aliens outside waiting to eat us?”

* * *

**August 2026 - Present Day**

There was no girlfriend.

Of that Hermann was reasonably certain by the end of the first full day of his captivity. No woman had appeared to find a strange man chained to her living room floor, and Newt never watched the door or otherwise indicated he expected one to appear. Perhaps her existence was simply another lie designed to keep Hermann away.

The day after that was a Monday and Newton emerged from the bedroom fully dressed at six in the morning. Hermann started awake at the sound of footsteps. A blanket had been pulled over him to the chin, and a pillow placed beneath his head at some point in the night. Newton had a briefcase in hand and was wearing sunglasses though the sun had not yet fully risen. He cast a glance back over his shoulder at the sound of Hermann’s shuffling.

“Be back later,” Newt whispered. “Six-ish, if I’m lucky, could be more though. I’ve had to miss a couple days at the office lately since, uh…” He bit his lip and cast Hermann a significant look. “There’s food in the fridge, and the remote’s on the table. I’ll…. see you later?”

Newt hesitated at the door when Hermann did not respond. Hermann could feel the hollows of exhaustion beneath his own eyes. His brain was sluggish, but he still held onto the thought from the day before: that he dared not let himself be lulled into a false sense of normalcy. The collar hung heavy around his neck.

“Right,” Newt said. Without another word he ducked out the door, leaving Hermann alone.

Hermann’s shoulders slumped. He found his head trailing back to the pillow. Were it Hong Kong, he would be waking up within the hour in any case. This wasn’t Hong Kong. His bones felt too heavy to move. Hermann slipped back down to the couch, and could not fight sleep in this form any more than he could when it was brought on by the pills.

* * *

Newton returned closer to seven that night and dropped a pizza box on the end of the kitchen counter within reach of Hermann’s chain. His briefcase he had dropped by the door but he did not immediately retreat to his bedroom. Instead, he leaned against the countertop, fidgeting.

“I’ve been thinking and, uh, I bet you’ve got some questions,” Newt said. “Like, what the fuck is going on and how did this happen? I’m not allowed to say some of things, but if you’ve got other stuff you want to know, I’m all yours. I mean, it’s all yours. I’ll explain whatever I can.” His shoulders rose as he looked hopefully at Hermann, who sat listless on the couch.

At Newt’s words, a trickle of awareness returned to his brain. Questions. Answers. Newton trying to be thoughtful in his own clumsy way, doing his best despite the madness to see to Hermann. Yes, there was more he wanted to know.

_What is their plan and how do we stop it? Is there a weakness in their hold on you? Can we ever break you free?_

But of course, those were questions he could not ask. There was no chance he would be able to glean information from Newton with his captors in full control.

Bubbling beneath the more practical inquiries, the concerns his old self would have demanded before even considering a display of sentiment, came the questions of a different Hermann. The one who came after their Drift. The one who watched Newton go down on one knee. The one whose heart turned to dust the day Newton walked out of their flat and did not return.

 _You promised there would never be anyone else. Was that a lie? How did the Precursors get you, was it before or after you left me? Whatever possessed you to Drift with them again,_ how _did you Drift with them again, or have they had you since the first? Have you thought of me once since you came here? Do you still feel anything for me?_

_Did you ever love me in return, Newton?_

Hermann’s lips parted. He had come hundreds of miles to seek answers from Newt and here he was, offering them. The gulf between them had never seemed so wide, but Newton had thrown him a line to bridge it. All he had to do was accept.

“ _Yes, Dr. Gottlieb, what_ do _you want to know?_ ” an inhuman voice growled.

Hermann’s head jerked up. Newt’s lips had twisted into a smirk and his eyes glinted as he studied Hermann, but there was nothing human in that face.

“I have nothing to say to _you_ ,” Hermann snapped at the Precursors. Fear shot up into his throat and made his veins cold. The chain pressed heavy around his neck.

Newt flinched, his whole body recoiling and his face went pale. “Right. Right, that… makes sense. I’m sorry I asked.”

Newt turned away, his hands shaky and jerking as he took out a plate and layered several slices of pizza on top. He was halfway to the staircase back to his bedroom before he paused again. “If you need anything, just write up a list and leave it on the fridge. I’ll swing by the store on my way back from work tomorrow."

Newt had put up a curtain over the entrance to the bedroom, perhaps the same night he spent setting up the chain in the living room. It whisked open and shut behind Newt as he vanished from sight and did not reemerge.

Hermann’s hand strained forward in the air and he forced it back down, swallowing the words waiting on his lips. He hadn’t meant to frighten Newton away. Perhaps that display was merely a lesson in their cruelty, the fact they’d make it appear as if Newton was hurt by his words to draw him out. Perhaps that was only them playing him once more. He couldn't risk it. He did not call Newton back.

* * *

There were indeed items Hermann needed, it wasn’t as if he’d brought a suitcase on this mad quest. He’d planned to buy himself a same-day plane ticket home once done confronting Newton. Now he wrote up the list as requested, and the next day when Newton returned from work he brought the items with him. At least, some of them. Spare sets of clothes, all button-down shirts, and pajamas to accommodate the metal collar. A mattress cover and blankets for the couch. But Newt wrung his hands anxiously as he pleaded “suspicious buying patterns” for why he could not also purchase the custom-made foam wedges that Hermann slept with at home to cushion his leg. Regular pillows would have to do.

Hermann was not allowed anything digital beyond the remote control for the television. Nothing that had a call-out function, or could be modified to have one, though he was no computer hardware genius like Newton. Half the books he requested were denied as well, if Newton’s prison guards deemed they may contain knowledge that would aid in an escape. No technical manuals were allowed, no non-fiction of scientific value unless the topic was something abstract, like astronomy. Fiction he was allowed, for the most part, at least he had not found a book that would be denied, nor one with any particular knowledge that would help his current circumstances.

He only broke the silence once in those first days, because he had to know.

“I trust my cane has been destroyed and it would be futile to ask for a replacement?” Hermann murmured when Newton finished dropping the bags of purchases on the kitchen counter within Hermann’s reach and looked ready to scurry away.

At the sound of Hermann’s voice, Newt straightened like a shot and wrenched around to stare at him. But when the words sunk in, his expression fell. “Right, your cane. Fuck, Hermann, I…I’m so sorry. I tried to tell them, but they thought it could be used as…as like a weapon, or some _stupid_ thing like that. Or just to run away. I didn’t want to, Hermann. You gotta believe me, I would never…”

“It was a simple yes or no question, Newton,” Hermann said wearily and closed his eyes. He could hear the tears building in Newt’s voice even now, could imagine them in his eyes as those beasts forced him to break Hermann’s cane into kindling and toss it into the garbage. Or perhaps the pieces were saved somewhere out of his reach, only to be found with his body in a ditch if the Precursors ever grew tired of this arrangement.

And poor Newton. Poor, gentle Newton, who for all his manic energy and wild abandon and teeth-grating mania had always been scrupulously careful with Hermann’s leg. He had been one of the few in the Shatterdome who treated Hermann’s disability with effortless respect and not a trace of condescension from the very beginning. He never made Hermann feel defined by it, but was always there in the lab to offer an arm if it was needed, and then it was right back to arguing. And those creatures had forced Newton to destroy his cane with his own hands. The irony tasted like poison.

“I’m sorry,” Newt squeaked and turned to flee.

Hermann did not watch him go. He did not need to, to know where Newt was going: back to them, willing or not. Back to their embrace.

Sometimes Hermann could hear the tiny moans from the next room as Newt gave himself up to them, or perhaps it was when they forced him down. Sometimes Newton screamed himself awake in the middle of the night. Sometimes Hermann did too when the memories of their third Drift partner raised their ugly head with visions of gnashing teeth and molded flesh. The chain would not reach far enough for him to enter Newton’s room. Perhaps Newton was the same, only with chains of a different sort. At least, when Hermann woke from the nightmares Newton was never there.

Until one day, when he was.

* * *

Hermann awoke suddenly to the couch shifting and started up on to his elbows, wincing at the stiffness in his limbs. He started further awake when he realized he wasn’t alone.

Newton sat at the edge of the couch, not looking at him. The light of the television played off his skin and cast a silent, ghostly glow. It was turned to the news, some retrospective on the final days of the Kaiju war. One of hundreds Hermann recalled interviewing for in those early months, and for which the occasional interview request still came in. A news anchor stood on a boat in the middle of the Pacific, in a familiar spot above the Breach, pointing behind him. After a few seconds, the scene changed, flickering to the Sydney Shatterdome.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you up,” Newt murmured, his eyes remaining on the screen, but they were unfocused and dull. “Don’t worry, I’ll leave in a second. It's just... I've been looking forward to this one, and there's only one TV. Sorry.”

Hermann’s fingers clenched in the blankets, at the last moment before he would give in to the urge to reach out and draw Newt down next to him. His mind was still foggy from sleep and it would be so _easy_.

Newt sighed and chuckled under his breath, rubbing the back of his neck as he spared a glance at Hermann. He was still dressed from the day, with the jacket and shoes removed, but the vest still in place. Hermann had not seen him before bed and had reheated leftovers when his stomach finally growled. Newt must have been working late. His expression tightened at the sight of Hermann and he looked away quickly, back at the television.

“They’re happy today,” Newt whispered. “Or whatever they consider _happy_. Hit a big milestone ahead of schedule. I’m not really allowed to talk specifics. Tomorrow is phase two, and it’s back to work. No rest for the wicked, huh?”

Why were they telling him this? Were they gloating? Or were they trying to draw Hermann out with a performance? He remained silent, watching, searching Newton’s face for any flicker that might give away their tells, when all he saw weariness that made him want to take Newton in his arms and never let go.

The television screen flickered to a scene of confetti falling from the sky, a montage of cities all over the world celebrating the closing of the Breach.

“Hey,” Newt murmured, his voice hoarse and his eyes distant.“Remember that time we saved the world?”

Of course he did. Hermann could see it when he closed his eyes: LOCCENT erupting in cheers, the array of zeros at the final stopping of the clock, Newt’s arms warm around him in their first embrace. That night, they shared their first kiss, neither fully understanding what they were doing, only knowing they couldn’t go back. His heart twisted at the memory. He nodded, and only realized his error after. Give them nothing, no hint at all of what he was thinking, but he couldn’t help himself. He forced his eyes open, but Newt wasn’t looking at him. He was staring at the screen. A droplet of moisture escaped the corner of his eye, and left a trail down his cheek.

“Good times, huh?” Newt said. His voice shook, and he gave a rueful chuckle that trailed away. “Feels like a thousand years ago.”

Suddenly the scene changed, and Hermann started as the two of them appeared on the screen. They shared an armrest and their fingertips were a hairsbreadth apart, not quite touching. The looks they exchanged lingered, and when the camera cut away it was to old candid photos of their lab. Usually he and Newt were relegated to a footnote in the larger tale of the Jaeger pilots, but the title of this particular documentary read “The Science of the Breach” in the bottom corner of the screen. Hermann remembered filming it over a year ago, not long before his birthday. Remembered that some issue with the production schedule had pushed back the release. This must have been the first airing, he'd had the date set in his calendar as well.

“Why are you showing me this?” Hermann said, his voice tight as anger stirred within him. How _dare_ they? What could they hope to gain?

Newt started and scrubbed his sleeve over his cheeks before. “Sorry. Sorry, I’ll turn it off.” Newt’s movements were jerky as he rose from the couch, and reached for the remote on the coffee table.

“Newton…” Hermann began. _Is it really you? If it is, you don’t have to go_. He swallowed around the words, around the lump that tightened his throat.  

Newt paused, his finger hovering over the remote power button, frozen as he looked back at Hermann. There was a hunger in his eyes, a plea as he looked back to Hermann on the couch, hope that trickled away the longer Hermann remained silent. “I just…” Newt said helplessly. “Sometimes I like to remember that we did it, y’know? We saved the world. The Jaeger pilots would have bounced right off the Breach if it wasn’t for us, there wouldn’t have _been_ another shot. Earth would have _lost_. They hate us for that, the Precursors. Like, the two of us, specifically. They don’t even mind you knowing how much. They want you to know. They like to remind me too, every day, that we did it, and that…” Newt choked, “…and that they’re going to undo it all. After all that work. After everything we did, you and me, and Sasha and Alexis, Stacker and Chuck, Mako… They’re going to take it all away, Hermann. It’s all going to be gone.”

 _It’s not, Newton. We’re going to stop them._ I’m _going to stop them,_ Hermann thought helplessly at him but firmed his lips so hard they began to hurt. He couldn’t let his show on his face, so he smoothed his expression, and prayed it had not flickered, that he hadn’t betrayed himself and the work it took to remain silent by showing just how badly he wanted in that instant to reach out and take Newton by the hand, to draw him close and whisper fervent reassurances in his ear that it would be alright. To tell him every detail of a plan to free them that he still did not know, just so that the lines of tension in Newt’s body would be soothed, and perhaps finally he would sleep untroubled by nightmares once more in the circle of Hermann’s arms where he belonged.

It was exactly what the Precursors were hoping for, for Hermann to give himself away. It was why they were putting on this little show for him. And if it was not, if they had no such ability to mimic Newton to such a perfect extent, if this truly was Newt desperate and on the verge of weeping, alone in the dark of their imprisonment with Hermann unable to reach back in return, torturing him as surely as the creatures in his head… If they were forcing him to withhold himself from the man he loved because of the doubts they had placed in his head, and he had lost this chance to hold Newton, to comfort him and let him know he was not alone?

He would burn down their world with his bare hands once they were free of this place. He would be thorough. He would be meticulous. And he would find a way to erase these creatures from the universe in as painful a manner as he could find for what they did here. For what they had done to Newton. For what they had done to him, and what they had made him do.

Newt’s expression crumpled, and collapsed. “Sorry, I’ll just… I'm really sorry,” he whispered hoarsely and turned off the television.

* * *

On Friday night, something changed. Technically it was Saturday by then, two in the morning according to the sleepily blinking microwave clock.

Newton came home drunk.

Hermann awoke to the doorknob rattling and the lights flickering on across the flat, followed by muffled swearing before they went dark again. By then he was already up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes as the darkened silhouette of Newt stumbled into the room. Hermann braced himself, expecting Newt would fumble about for a moment, perhaps grab a bite to eat out of the fridge before making his usual beeline to the bedroom to disappear from sight until another furtive glimpse in the morning, as was the emerging pattern.

Hermann closed his eyes and put his head back down on the pillow. Let the Precursors think he was difficult to rouse, that he paid little attention to their comings and goings, though in truth his thoughts were consumed with them. An idea was forming in his head that perhaps if he could continue to feign disinterest in Newton’s wellbeing, it would give Newt the ability to fight them harder, to be less concerned with Hermann’s safety. Perhaps it was best if he did get himself killed if it would allow Newton some measure of freedom once more, and what better way to do so than to let Newton believe Hermann had hated him ever since their separation?

A cold comfort, but perhaps then once Newton was free, Hermann's death would allow him to move on and he would find happiness elsewhere without regret. So many ifs. He knew already it did not constitute a _plan_ , that he was fooling himself if he believed his death would solve anything and not make matters worse, leaving Newton without allies within his captivity or outside it to testify to his state as an unwilling accomplice. But with each day when the routine did not waver and the chain would not break and the hours ticked by, it became ever more attractive an option.

The couch shuddered as a weight fell onto it. Hermann jerked full-body from his reverie, too late to mask the movement, and saw Newton sprawled beside him.

Newton’s tie was loose at his throat, and his head lolled back against the cushion. The scent of booze roiled off of him and his head tilted as he looked sideways, silhouette outlined by the cityscape beyond so it was possible to make out his shirt collar’s particular shade of purple. He still wore the sunglasses.

Hermann wondered vaguely what would happen if Newton fell asleep here. Nothing good, he imagined. He had not realized the benefit of Newton’s self-exile until he felt the warm weight of him nearby. It was all he could do to keep his hands forced to his sides and not have them out, clucking in exasperation as he took the sunglasses from Newt’s eyes before he broke them somehow, to smooth his hair and help him out of his jacket.

It was hardly the first time he’d seen Newton drunk, but usually such stumbling excess was limited to parties of particular importance (say, the closing of the Breach and the salvation of humanity) or when Newton’s need to be the life of the party overcame his good sense at a conference. Hermann knew from the echo in his mind that during his band days, Newton had always preferred marijuana to quiet his brain.

“What a fucking day, huh, Hermann?” Newt slurred beside him. His head tilted backward as if too heavy for him to hold upright. “What a fucking _week_. It’s so weird. You know I have to help them now, right? Don't worry, it’s not sssooo bad. Everything hurts less than it used to, but kind of more? Like, I know what this is all for, but it’s all… out there. Years away. So right now it’s, uh, it’s surreal. It’s just a shitty boss. Everyone has those. Even me. I had this one advisor who was just… the worst. It’s like that. They’re even nice to me now. I’m a good boy. Such a good boy just… doing whatever they want.”

Hermann roused himself from the _ache_ suffusing his whole body with each word Newton spoke at the words: years. _Years away_. Was that a hint, given unawares? Did they care if it was? At most, it could lure him into a false sense of security. But it was interesting in itself. _Years_. Whatever was happening at Shao was therefore complex. Not sabotage, or not only sabotage. Were they building something? If so, what?

He wanted to reach out and take Newton by the hand, and why not do so, when Newton was in pain? Would anything truly be lost if he did, except himself?

“It’s weird, isn’t it? A _lot_ of this is weird. This right here? Super weird.” Newt leaned forward, and tapped his forehead conspiratorially, wrenching Hermann from his thoughts. “I-I’ve been talking to you, in m’head, for _months_ ‘cause it’s been so ffffucking lonely here. There’s no one else. Except me. And a copy of you, which is actually me. And now you’re out here too and it’s _weird_ , ok? ‘Cuz you’re nothing alike, not an’more. _You_ don’t talk. _He_ talks all the time, but he's _me_. It’s just memories and shit, a Hermann filter on m’brain. You don’t say anything, but you’re right here and I could reach out and t-touch you. If you let me, m’not a creep, but you’d hate that. You hate me. But _brain_ Hermann doesn’t hate me. Not more than usual. Doesn’t have a reason to hate me except the Kaiju entrails stuff on his side of the lab and c’mon, that was just funny. That was just so you’d notice me.” He frowned and looked morose. “Do you notice me anymore, Herms? I’m kind of ‘fraid to ask. In case you do.”

 _Of course I don’t hate you, Newton,_ he thought desperately. Soon. Soon they would be out of here, he’d find a way, and he’d apologize for the silence. He would explain how it had been the only course of action to see them freed. He would hold Newton close and never let go and everything would be alright, somehow.

“It’s ok if you hate me,” Newt said and Hermann’s heart broke. Newt’s head fell forward to cradle in his hands so his words were muffled. “It’s like: join the club, right? You’re allowed. I’ll allow it. _Everyone_ would if they knew. People at work already do even if they don’t, but that’s ok. The only person who doesn't hate me is Alice. They hate me even now, when I'm a _good boy_. They don't trust me, so they just watch, all the time, inside my head. I can feel them, y’know? Just _watching_ me and I’m like, can you all chill? Just …chill? Maybe change the channel for five minutes so I can get some sleep?”

 _Alice_. Hermann froze. He remembered that name now. His heart wrenched at the rest even more so because it was not surprising. If this was Newton, if these weren’t words tailored to tug at his heartstrings, then could he really be surprised by the depths of the horrors of having these creatures in his mind?

But _Alice_ … it was the first time Newton had brought her up, this mystery woman that Hermann had already discounted as nonexistent. He didn’t dare show his interest in the subject, but tightened his lips, and hoped Newton would go on without prompting.

“Alice isn’t so bad,” Newton murmured. “Not like them. They tell us both what to do, right? Alice and I are in this to _gether_. But we have fun. We try to. It’s not her fault. It wasn’t… it wasn’t really any of their faults, y’know? They were just slaves. Like I am now. Hah! They were probably scared. Didn’t know what was going on, just getting pushed out of… out of their home and told what to do and made to work for some big plan that doesn’t make any sense, and then the PPDC kills them. It probably didn’t make any sense to them, coming to our world. T-The atmosphere's not conducive, gravity’s all wrong. They just get sent here to die, and told to bleed on as much as they can before they go.”

 _Who are_ they _, Newton?_ _Who is Alice?_ Hermann thought and had the terrible feeling he already knew.

“Mommy, I want to be a Kaiju when I grow up!” Newt giggled to himself. “Whoops! Careful what you… what you ask for, kids. Stay in school, don’t do drugs, ‘cause the Kaiju get a raw deal, don’t even get proceeds from the toy lines. Should have at leeeast got likeness rights…” He looked owlishly at Hermann. The lenses of the sunglasses reflected the city lights. “You never liked the Kaiju, Herms. Maybe that’s why you don’t like me anymore.”

 _Don’t give them anything,_ Hermann thought to himself fiercely. His throat closed. His breath came through his nose in a wheeze and the dim lights of the city muddled in his gaze. _Don’t_. _Don’t show them what works to draw you out_.

But his will was crumbling. His fingernails dug crescents into his palm to keep from reaching for Newton. Questions be damned of whether Newton had ever loved him or if their time together had meant anything. It meant something to _him._ If there was even a _chance_ this was Newton now, wasn’t it worth it? And he was drunk, perhaps that muddled their vision, or perhaps he would not remember it in the morning but it would be enough _now_.

“ _Newton_ ,” Hermann whispered. Too quiet to be heard. He cleared his throat to say it again, louder, when Newton rose to his feet and took the decision from his hands.

“I’m drowning here, Herms. I don’t know how much longer I really had. I know… I know I said you stopped me from fighting but, I dunno, I was just mad. And scared, 'cause you did something dumb. I don’t know how much longer I could have kept fighting, it’s getting blurry and now… it felt good not to fight today, Hermann. It felt _really_ good. How fucked up is that?” Newt squeaked and pressed his hand over his eyes and took a hard breath in. He swayed on his feet, then let his hand drop. “I’m trying. You gotta believe me. I know it’s a shitty thing to say to you, you didn’t ask for any of this. It’s not a contest for who has it worse, because I know you win. I know. But I’m doing the only thing I know how to make it right, so please could you…when you’re up to it…could you talk to me, Hermann? Tell me it’s going to be alright? That you’re alright, even if it’s not true? I know it’s fucked to even ask after I…after I fucked up like this but I need… something, Herms. Just something. Please.”

 _I’m trying to get us out!_ Hermann jerked forward despite himself, feeling the words pressing on his tongue, his breath short and his heart cracking in his chest. _Just give your time and your trust, Newton. I have to do this mission alone, and you are connected to the enemy. Just a little longer, please, just hold on a little longer!_

 _And I don’t hate you,_ he wanted to plead, just that one phrase to take some of the pain from Newton, but he didn’t even dare say _that_. He couldn’t tell Newton he bore him no ill will, that he understood what this was all for and it was the duty of any prisoner to survive as best he could, because then they would know he still cared for Newton. They'd know any plan he devised was meant to free both of them. But he could hide his motives behind the cloud of supposed resentment, he could pretend that his intentions were at best to free himself.

Damn them. Damn them to the lowest pits of Hell if this was all a ruse. If they had chosen those words, knowing it was all he needed to break and reassure Newton, only to doom them both.

“I am fine, Newton,” Hermann’s voice cracked from disuse. He lowered his eyes so that even in the darkness Newt could not see the plea in them. So that he could only hear the neutrality of his tone, and they could read into it whatever they willed. “You should take care of yourself, rather than worrying about me.”

“ _And why is that, Dr. Gottlieb?_ ” an alien voice hissed and Hermann flinched. He didn’t know why he was surprised. “ _Should our emissary fear for his health? What are you_ planning _?”_

Hermann tightened his jaw and raised his eyes to them. Newton stood perfectly still now, with no hint of swaying from the alcohol as he had a moment before. He shuddered at the sight. “It is only a figure of speech. You have already impressed upon me the futility of any escape efforts.”

 _“Pick a more convincing lie next time._ ” The creature tapped Newt’s forehead. “ _We know how you think. We know you want to escape._ ”

“Of course I hope to be free of here,” Hermann snapped. Terror burned in his lungs. “But having hope and formulating a plan of action are two entirely different things. You should be proud of yourselves. You built a very effective _cage_.” Truth lent weight to his words, burned away some of the fear and he leaned into the sensation. He had no plan. Why not let them know that and see the truth in his eyes when that was still the case?

“ _We will see, won’t we?”_ it rumbled. “ _It would be much easier for everyone if we had no need for a cage at all.”_

“I'm fully aware,” Hermann said evenly.

“ _Then you should remember that any time you consider threatening us,”_ it hissed in challenge. “ _In case we decide we don’t need any_ loose ends _. You see that? That’s another figure of speech. We’re not so ignorant of your kind as you might think!_ ”

Hermann resisted the urge to raise his eyebrows. What was this, posturing? Were they truly so ragingly paranoid that they saw a threat in his every word and movement? Were they, perhaps, somehow more afraid of him than he even was of them? The thought should be preposterous, and yet… “Of course. It would be foolish of me to think otherwise. So I am sure you know that it is best to let Newton sleep right now. Human bodies need rest, and from the sound of it, his has been through the wringer. Another figure of speech. I trust you know it.”

The creature frowned at him in suspicion and he _saw_ it this time, despite the dim light. The minute shift in body language, the unclenching of the shoulders and droop of Newt’s head as they released their hold. It was so subtle that there would be little point in a performance, they couldn’t reasonably be assured that he saw it. Unless they played such a long game on his mind that it begged credulity. Why go to such lengths, then, except to toy with him? Were they planting signs of “Newton” being in control of his own body or not from moment to moment in order to torment him? It seemed a waste of energy. So, could he be reasonably certain it was, in fact, a tell? How many such tells existed?

Did it mean he could train himself to see when it _was_ Newton?

“They’re talking to you, aren’t they? When they push me out of the way?” Newt's voice shook. His face tightened with grief as he looked back at Hermann. “Do they… do they tell you about me, about what I’ve done? Is that why you won’t look at me?”

“You should get some sleep, Newton, and so should I. It’s late,” Hermann said wearily.

Newt gave a pained laugh. “Why? So I can be _fresh_ in the morning? It’s better for the whole world if I’m…” He grimaced, cut off, and turned back towards his bedroom, where the yellow, pulsing light of the tank was visible through the curtain. Perhaps it was Hermann’s imagination, but there was a jerkiness to Newton’s movement, the same he’d seen the first day, as if his limbs were not his own. Another tell or another false hope.

It was probably for the best that the chain did not reach that far, Hermann wasn’t sure he would have been able to hold himself back otherwise.

* * *

The next morning brought with it some measure of clarity. In the dark of night, sitting alone on the makeshift bed, it was easy to be caught up in the isolation, the claustrophobic sense of hopelessness. He found himself almost envying Newton, at least for the chance to speak with others. Once, Hermann would have found such extended isolation to be a dream come true, but that was before their Drift.

Newton did not linger for long in the flat. Hermann distantly thought he heard the sound of retching, but there was no sign of a hangover about Newton when he emerged perfectly coiffed, the sunglasses back on and wearing a fresh suit.

“They need me at the office,” he muttered by way of greeting. “There should be enough in the fridge for you. Don’t wait up.” He barely looked at Hermann before he was gone.

That night he came home well past midnight, and again there was the reek of alcohol. The pattern repeated itself the next day, though it was a Sunday night. And the night after that. There was always food waiting, but whatever hope Newton had of speaking to him he seemed to have given it up.

Hermann tried to be glad of it. The absence of his jailers and the quiet in the flat allowed him to think of solutions. Mostly it allowed him to dismiss them. There was none he could devise that left no trace or could be completed in a single day. Neither the oven nor the stove would reach sufficient heat to melt the chain. There were no buildings close enough to see an S.O.S. message if he pasted it to the windows. There was no leverage he could muster to break the links and besides, he didn’t dare leave traces of scratches or wear on the metal lest the Precursors see it and decide it was high time to be rid of their loose end.

Whatever damage he inflicted on the chain would need to be accomplished in one fell swoop, and there was nothing in the flat he could see to achieve that purpose. Almost as if he was imprisoned by a fellow genius. He was beginning to suspect that escape would require an act of God if something about their situation did not change soon.

“They’ve started looking for you now,” Newton said when he came back that evening. He was sober, for once, and seemed preoccupied with the news he related. “I guess word got out that you never made it to Taipei. I got a call today at the office from the PPDC, said I should be on alert in case it’s some kind of retaliation. Ha! If only they knew. We should be good though, there hasn’t been a whisper about Shanghai.” Newt absently picked at the buttons on his suit cuffs, loosening it from the day. His voice was rough, defeated. “I guess we’ll find out how much the PPDC cares, huh? You’re the first hero they’ve lost since Pitfall. They’re calling it the _end of an era_ on the news if you’re dead.”

“We already lost one of our numbers before that,” Hermann said. Newton looked up in surprise. He always seemed surprised on the rare occasions when Hermann spoke. He shouldn’t have spoken, he knew it. It was getting harder to remember that after two weeks of silence.

“Wait, who?” Newton said. Honest concern furrowed his brow. “Anyone I know?”

Hermann gave Newt a long, level stare.

Understanding flashed across Newt’s features and he looked away as he muttered, “I said the first _hero_ , Hermann.” 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to yaaurens, Sansael, and CommunionNimrod for the beta help for this chapter!

**September, 2025 - 1 Year Prior**

“Ho-ly shit,” Newt said from his desk in their shared office--they’d moved into a larger flat during the summer, but still found they were more productive when working side by side--and Hermann perked up. He hadn’t been doing anything of real note, just idly scrolling through old and now obsolete academic papers on the Breach that he had missed during the final days of the Kaiju War. He had hoped to glean something of value now, but it was a largely hopeless effort with no new data to be had.

Newt leaned back from his desk, holding up a finely embossed letter by the corner as if it were a dead rat. “Shao _fucking_ Industries wants to recruit lil’ old me.”

Hermann frowned. “What on Earth for? Aren’t they a Jaeger manufacturing startup of some kind?”

“When is a startup not a startup anymore?” Newt said in a sing-song voice. “Oh yeah, when it’s a multi-billion dollar merchant of _death_. Yeah, they’re the new kids on the scene but make no mistake, just because they’re some child prodigy’s two-year-old pet project, doesn’t make them a plucky underdog. Their first contract was making Jaegers for police forces in the States.” His tone switched to open distaste. “Have you got a lighter? I’m thinking of sending this letter off in style and emailing young Dr. Shao a picture of the ashes.”

“I quit years ago,” Hermann reminded him absently. It was that or give himself nicotine poisoning every time a new batch of data from the latest Breach opening hit his desk. “What I meant was, why would they hire _you_? You’re a Kaiju biologist, you don’t know the first thing about J-Tech. Frankly, that letter should be for me.” He craned his head to try to make out the salutation in case it was just that.

“I guess they heard about the Pons I built from our paper, y’know, the Geiszler Array? They’re interested in my innovations on Drift tech. Say they want to make me head of R&D to work out some experimental remote piloting tech.”

Hermann drew back in surprise. “Your rig was cobbled together from garbage. What could you possibly know about remote piloting? That old chestnut has bedeviled the field since the Mark 2 program. Everyone knows it’s physically impossible to overcome the latency gap.”

Newt held up a finger, then pointed it to himself. “I mean, I did kinda initiate the first cross-dimensional Drift in human history, so credit where it’s due. Yours truly is a _bit_ of a rockstar in the Drift field these days. I can’t blame them for wanting this sweet ass at their murder company.” He glanced back at the letter. “Hey Hermann, guess how many figures they’re offering? I’ll give you three guesses, the first two don’t count, and it’s an odd number that isn’t five.”

“They offered you a _seven figure_ salary to work in a field in which you have _no_ experience?” Hermann gaped.  

“Yup.” Newt popped the _p_. “So have we got a lighter somewhere in this apartment or what? No? Ah well, I know exactly where this goes, then.” Newt leaned back in his chair to the tipping point, and neatly deposited the letter in the paper recycling bin, then dusted his hands off theatrically. “May it enjoy its next life as a gift card. Like I was ever going to work for a company doing its best to destroy the world two seconds after we saved it.”

Hermann scrambled to his feet, and snatched the letter from the recycling bin, scanning it quickly. He blanched at the sight of the figure amount offered at the bottom. Not even a signing bonus, but a proposed yearly salary, open to negotiation which could very well mean _upward_. “Newton,” he said in a strained tone. “You’re mad to throw this away. You’ll never see an offer like this again, and with your mind… if _anyone_ could crack remote piloting, or find a work-around at least, it could very well be you!”

Newt blinked at him owlishly. “Why the fuck would I want to do that? The Kaiju are gone. There’s no one else to use the Jaegers against except people, and I am like ten different kinds of _never_ going to make weapons to use on _people_.”

“ _Precisely_ what you just said, Newton. The Kaiju are gone. Your principal field of expertise grows less relevant by the day. You could very well find yourself left by the wayside, and…” Hermann swallowed at the thought of ‘Dr. Newton Geiszler’ as some washed-out has-been, only able to recount the glory days of his relevance. The mind that once saved the world languishing in obscurity. “You need to start thinking about your future.”

“That’s easy, I’ll just go wherever you are.” Newt shrugged, and kicked up his heels on his desk with a grin back over his shoulder at Hermann. “I’ve got six degrees, you think I can’t teach music theory at some community college while you become the next Hawking? Or hell, maybe I’ll just be a homemaker. I can find my way around a toaster, see you off to work in the morning with a kiss.” Newt winked, then cackled to himself as if  he had just made a wonderful joke.

“You’d go mad from boredom within the week,” Hermann said faintly and shook his head to clear the image before his mind could even _begin_ to entertain it.

“In _case_ you haven’t noticed, things have been _pretty_ exciting for the past, oh, twelve years? We’ve got journalists banging on our door begging for interviews, mostly about whether or not we’re banging. We’re rockstars in our field! They’re literally teaching Ph.D courses based on our paper. Frankly, anything we do after this is going to be a huge disappointment unless we single-handedly find a way to go to Mars. Might as well cash in on the book deal and move to a beach somewhere. Maybe start a podcast,” Newt said. Then his gaze softened as he looked at Hermann, and he shrugged. “I dunno, man, you’re the one in a rush to find somewhere to land after the PPDC. I’m fine with just taking the pension and a long vacation. We did good for ourselves. We did what we set out for. We saved the _world_. I’m not in a rush to make a name for myself any more than we already have, especially with some ugly-ass weapons manufacturer.”

“You say that now, but it will dry up,” Hermann warned. “The fame, the glory, the recognition. For every ‘rockstar’ of history there’s a hundred more brilliant minds that fade into obscurity, or worse, are turned on by the very governments they saved. I simply…” He looked down at the sheet of paper in his hand. At the gold-embossed logo of Shao Industries, at the sheer number of zeros in bolded black ink. “I don’t want that for you. I don’t want you to close all your doors just for my sake.”

He did not add aloud, _In case you realize one day that I’m not enough._ At least the money, and the celebrity the came with it, could make up for any excitement Hermann lacked. Perhaps beside it, his modest charms would not seem so paltry, but might even provide a welcome contrast, a comforting reminder of where it all began.

“It’s not going to be a problem,” Newt rolled his eyes. “Is this even about Shao anymore? Hermann, if you’re worried about…” He stopped and pulled his phone from his pocket. Newt’s eyes widened to a comical extent before his gape broke into a grin. “Now _that’s_ what I’m talking about!”

Newt flashed his phone screen at Hermann and punched the air, crowing. “Raiju, baby! The PPDC finally scraped what’s left of him off the ocean floor.”

“Are they serious? ‘Raiju the Kaiju’ is the name that stuck?” Hermann scoffed.

Newt laughed. “Hey, blame Tendo, not me. For all we know, he misgendered her too, anything’s possible after Otachi. Maybe they’ll let me give her a new name if that's the case, because guess who has two thumbs and first dibs on the only fresh samples left on Mother Earth? This guy.” Newt said, jabbing his thumbs at himself. “PPDC says they want yours truly to take a look before anyone else at… Oh shit, they want me now!”

Newt was up out of his chair and halfway to the door before Hermann had the presence of mind to call after him. “But it’s been nine months since the Breach closed, how can there be anything left? Most Kaiju dissolve within hours of death.”

Newt turned and continued walking backwards as he shrugged. “I dunno, but that’s half the fun. Maybe it’s some new model, those guys were constantly adapting.”

Trepidation, formless and inexpressible, squirmed in Hermann’s belly. “Be careful, won’t you? Don’t forget to wear your protective gear!”

Newt threw open the door and waved over his shoulder. “Sure thing, Mom!”

“Newton, I’m serious!”

Newt turned and blew a raspberry, followed by a kiss before he shut the door, and vanished from sight. Grumbling, Hermann turned back to his desk and the embossed letter in his hand. Then he stood and carefully cleared a spot for it on Newton’s desk amidst the precarious towers of unfinished paperwork and scribbled notes. Perhaps he would come to his senses later in the day, when the reality sank in.

Raiju. The last fragment of an intact Kaiju left on Earth. Its passing marked the end of an era. It would be dissected, disseminated, chopped into little pieces for what knowledge could be gleaned from its remains. It would mark the last official need for Newton’s particular brand of expertise. Perhaps after the dissection was complete, Newton would see the letter from Shao Industries in a new light.

* * *

**September 4, 2026 - Present Day**

The news segment with Tendo and Newt was playing again when Newton returned to the flat. At the sight of Hermann sitting on the couch, his legs tucked under him as he watched, Newton froze in the doorway. His briefcase thudded down beside him, the one that contained his laptop and mobile phone, items he’d never access without Hermann bound out of reach. He made his slow, halting way across the room, as if towards his own execution.

At the sight of the television, he flinched, though he must have heard the voices, must have recognized his own along with Tendo’s as both put out a plea for Hermann’s safe return. A brown paper bag of takeout hung loose from his hand and he dropped it on the counter behind him without looking. His gaze remained fixed on the screen. Hermann’s did as well, but he watched Newton with his peripherals.

“So you saw that?” Newton said. He ran a shaking hand through his hair, cursing under his breath. “I had to. If anyone saw you come here… they’d kill you. I have to make sure any tip comes to me and not the PPDC. You have to understand that, right? Hermann?”

Hermann did understand. In fact, he was impressed by Newton’s ingenuity. At the very least, he must have convinced Liwen Shao and her board that a million-dollar bounty offered in exchange for a missing PPDC scientist was a valuable investment for the company. He could only imagine Newton had sold it as a public relations gambit, a ploy to garner goodwill with the PPDC who could very well become Shao’s next and most valuable customer, if they played their cards right. A million dollars was nothing to such a corporation. They spent more on a single missile.

 _Not to mention, humans are bastards,_ the echo of Newt at the back of his mind whispered. _They’ll take cash any day, and no one knows what to do with the PPDC anymore. They don’t trust ‘em._

Hermann’s back straightened, and he shot a furious thought back at the echo, _And where exactly have you been?_

 _Well_ maybe _if you stopped pushing me away so hard, we could have figured out something together,_ the Newt echo retorted.

 _What are you talking about?_ Hermann hissed back, but the real Newton was still speaking, arguing with the jailers in his mind and pacing the floor in agitation as he did so.

“Fuck, no I don’t want to change the deal! Of course he’s pissed, we stole his fucking life. The money will work, it’ll work, I promise. Humans are bastards, they’ll take cash any day, and no one knows what to do with the PPDC anymore. They don’t trust ‘em.”

Hermann jolted and vertigo swept him. The exact words, the exact tone as the Newton before him and a tangible _ache_ pulsed in his chest. Newton was still there, if the echo was anything to go by. It was reassuring, even as his stomach churned at the thought of _his_ Newton enduring this for so long alone and thinking Hermann had nothing but disdain for him due to their circumstances.

He allowed the illusion to persist, he had to. There was no other believable lie he could devise to shield his thoughts from the enemy and buy himself the isolation needed to plan. But was it truly so easy for Newton to believe he could ever despise him?

“We’ll know if anyone is onto him, and we can shut down and discredit them if we need to.” Newt swallowed.

Hermann wondered if anyone had answered the tip line yet. The illegal cab driver that brought him to the coffee shop. One of the bus drivers, perhaps. Or were they content to accept the money for their information and be on their way without follow-up? If those tips only came to Newt and never went to the PPDC, who had still failed to set up any sort of equivalent offer on the bounty program, then that could very well be the end of it. None of the news outlets had made even a whisper of Shanghai as his possible destination. There was a whole world to search, and he had been the fool so _keen_ on letting Newton believe he could be anywhere in that world except on his doorstep.

“Ok. Ok, yeah that would… be good right now. Fuck, a pick-me-up would do just fine. I can’t believe they sent fucking _Tendo.”_ Newt stopped, guilt flashing over his face as he looked back to Hermann on the couch. “I got you some takeout, go ahead and eat without me. I just gotta… I gotta… Well, you know. It’ll be better after, you’ll see. It helps," he said as if trying to assure himself. His hands shook. He seemed to notice and jammed them in his pockets. With a last glance back at Hermann, Newt climbed the stairs to the bedroom, drawing the makeshift curtain shut on the yellow light that pulsed from an unseen corner of the room.

Thoughts swirled in Hermann’s head, but his stomach was growling so he rose once Newton disappeared behind the curtain that obscured the bedroom and picked himself out a bowl of lo mein. The metal collar was growing familiar, he could walk the short distances between the kitchen counter and the couch without risk of tangling it in his feet, could sense it about him like an additional limb.

If Tendo noticed something odd about Newton, if the PPDC began to search in Shanghai, if Newton’s money and status and, frankly, rock-solid alibi didn’t prevent all suspicion, (as he’d said, he had made no movement to leave his own house or any deviations from his patterns the day Hermann went missing) if some scrap of CCTV footage tracking Hermann into Newt’s high rise still existed, and Newton had not scrupulously erased it…If and if and if… If all these things happened and the search for a single missing scientist, albeit one who had some small hand in saving the world, was enough to bring the authorities to their door, what then?

But the trail was clean, Newton’s innocence obvious, and even if none of this was the case, even if a SWAT team waited outside the door at this very moment it was likely that one or both of them would die. He remembered the hideous strength of the Precursors in Newton’s body. If the Precursors suspected Hermann could reveal their presence, they would kill him and flee with Newt, vanishing to some unknown corner of the world. Or Newt would be killed in the attempted rescue if he made a false move.

The more Hermann dwelt on the possibility of rescue, the more his skin grew clammy at the thought of an outsider intervening. No, there _had_ to be a way to free Newton first,  _before_ bringing in the PPDC to scrub Shao Industries of the Precursors’ sabotage. And in any case, it didn’t matter, there was nothing he could do to tip off those authorities one way or the other. And Newton…

Newton had called his Drift a _pick-me-up_. Newton had said it would be _better_ after the Drift.

He had never called it that before. He had never spoken enough about his Drifting habits to let on how he felt about them, always fleeing the room in the face of Hermann’s silence.

Hermann’s mind went blank. All the swirling thoughts and plans and _ideas_ gave way to a single thought ringing like a bell in the silence: he knew nothing of where Newton was in his own mind because he had not asked. He had not dared ask. He needed to focus on freeing them, he needed to observe the objective truths, comings and goings, logistics, keeping the directions of his thoughts free…

Unless he had played directly into the Precursors' hands? Was that why they had enforced the idea that it had never been Newton at all when they spoke?

The lo mein tasted of ashes and he set it aside, his gaze going to the curtain affixed over Newton’s door. Newton was inside, Drifting with those creatures even now. What were the long term effects of continuing to do so? He didn’t know. He didn’t think they’d ever tell him, but more to the point he had not sought out the answers, because he was so assured he would have them out by now.

It was the first weekend of September and he had been in Shanghai for three weeks. There _was_ no help coming. No one knew where he was and, if he was honest with himself, he had no plan. He was waiting on an act of God at this point, and all the while, Newton Drifted with those creatures while Hermann stalled and watched and did nothing.

He hadn’t even told Newton he loved him.

 _Fuck, no I don’t want to change the deal! Of course he’s pissed, we stole his fucking life._ Newton had said to the creatures in his mind. Change the deal to keep Hermann alive, but why? Why would they think Newton would want to change the deal?

Unless Hermann’s silence, Newton’s conviction that he was hated, was an opening engineered deliberately by the Precursors to see Hermann removed. To get the permission they craved to take him out of the equation and return to their original status quo. The loose end made them uneasy, _he_ made them uneasy, he knew that. He had trusted the leverage of his life over Newton to protect him. He had depended on Newton’s love of him, or at least his goodness as a man, to not see Hermann harmed on his watch.

And in exchange, he had given Newton nothing, no hold to latch onto, except silence. He saw Newton weeping beside him on the couch as they watched the documentary. He saw Newton stumbling drunk again and again, begging him for some sign, some hint that he was alright, and all Hermann had offered in exchange were platitudes. Fight harder. Go to sleep. See to yourself. Forget about me. Opting always to maintain his precious _distance,_ his _objectivity,_ and all the while Newton suffered with only those creatures for comfort. He had driven Newt into their waiting arms.

_It’ll be better after, you’ll see. It helps._

_It helps_.

“Helps with _what_ , Newton?” Hermann whispered, half to the air, half to the echo inside him but that Newt had gone silent again, just as he had been these past weeks, as if frightened away by the vision of his future tragedies.

* * *

The sun was beginning to set noticeably earlier as the year trudged on. It was eight at night and dark when Newt emerged into the shadowed kitchen. The white light of the fridge flashed across the floor as he opened it, rummaging around. He still wore a silk shirt from the day and slacks, and that alone would have once been enough for Hermann to joke that Newton had been replaced with some clever fake. The Newton he knew could hardly wear a shirt in a bare room without staining it in minutes. But he seemed comfortable in a suit now or at least accustomed to it, and Hermann felt an unnameable sense of something lost, of something  _stolen_ at the thought.

Hermann took a deep breath and padded across the room. He braced himself on the counter to stay upright in the absence of his cane. Minute tremors raced through his arm as he propped himself up, the muscles trembling from disuse and nerves. All of him was trembling at what he was about to do, but something had to change. He could no longer take refuge in the safer strategy. He had run out of time. It would not be so frightening to gamble all if it was just his fate, or so he told himself. He couldn’t tell if it was better or worse for his nerves to remember it was all lives at stake, and not just the one most precious to him, the one standing before him unawares.

Newt turned, holding a sealed container of Chinese food from the fridge, and started at the sight of Hermann. “Jesus fuck, dude! Tell a guy when you’re gonna sneak up on him like that,” he groused. He popped the container into the microwave and slammed the door before turning back around. “Or don’t, I guess. Since you don’t tell me anything. Well, what do you want, or do we have to do a round of charades?”

Hermann swallowed and licked his lips. His voice emerged a whisper, thin from disuse. “Newton.”

Newton’s brow furrowed in irritation. “Food? Do you want food? Come on, Hermann, I get that I’m less than dog shit under your shoe these days, believe me, signal received loud and fucking clear. But I still can’t read your mind, so if you want something, you have to actually _ask_.”

_You have to actually ask._

_Ask me to marry you, Newton._

Hermann swallowed, lips working as he summoned every ounce of nerve needed to pitch himself from certain silence into uncertain disaster. “How does Drifting with that creature _help_ , Newton?”

Newton’s expression instantly turned guarded. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You clearly stated earlier that Drifting with them helps, that it makes it _better_. But I don’t understand,” Hermann pressed, “our Drift with a Kaiju brain was a hellish experience. We were both barely standing after.”

“Yeah, well, maybe it’s just different this time,” Newt muttered. His cheeks tinged pink.

“But _how?”_ Hermann stepped closer, fear and adrenaline bubbling in his chest. He should rein himself in, he knew, but after weeks of silence, he felt he would explode if he didn’t _do_ something and the words poured out of him. “I saw you that first day. You looked as if you were _enjoying_ yourself. But a Drift with an incompatible partner should damn near kill you, not provide some pleasure rush! Newton, I think…”

“Hermann!” Newt shouted, cutting him off. “Stop, just shut up! God, I can’t _believe_ I’m missing the silence already but man, but you should know better by now! You _can’t_ go talking like this in front of them! Do you have any idea how fucking dangerous this is?”

“I don’t care anymore, this is more important!” Hermann said. “I know you can’t always speak, Newton, but please _listen_ : I think the Precursors are manipulating you, dosing you with endorphins somehow in order to make you more receptive to their whims. Rewarding obedience, punishing resistance, but you mustn’t fall into their trap!”

“What the f…?” Newt stared incredulously at Hermann, and his heart leapt. He could see the wheels turning in Newt’s mind, his words getting through to him, when Newt gave a hysterical bark of laughter. “Seriously, Hermann? It took you _that_ _long_ to figure out? Of _course_ they’re manipulating me!”

Hermann started. “How can you be so casual about this? These creatures are not your friends, Newton, and neither is Alice!” It was a stab in the dark, and perhaps an effective one as Newton’s head jerked up to stare at him.

“You don’t know anything about her,” Newton snarled. Hermann grunted at the impact as Newt shoved him back, not hard, only enough to send him stumbling so he caught himself on the kitchen counter. Newton loomed in front of him, helpless anger burning in his eyes. “You don’t know anything about any of what’s happening here, even when I tried to explain. Well, guess what, Hermann? I’ve had a long fucking day and I don’t really feel like indulging your _fucking_ curiosity now that you’ve decided to speak up, not when _I’m_ the one who gets punished for it! You have no _idea_ what it’s like when they decide to make _everything_ hurt and the one thing that feels good at all is Drifting with them. So yeah, I enjoy it. Fuck me, but I enjoy it! What other choice do I have? Everything fucking sucks, they’ve got me working to destroy my own world, and when I don’t they _hurt me_.

“They don’t need to make it feel good, I know! I’m actually a subject matter expert on how the Drift works, believe it or not, and I know for a fact they could make it hell! Just like I know I’m just a pet to them, just a pathetic little mammal that’s got pleasure and pain receptors and yeah, drip, drip drip, they’re just gonna wear me down with those until I’m wagging my fucking tail to do whatever they say! Maybe it was gonna take months, maybe it was gonna take years. Now it’s not gonna take _any time at all_ because they don’t need to condition me anymore, they can just blackmail me! Press this button or Hermann dies, delete that security footage or Hermann dies! So it doesn’t fucking matter if the Drift feels good anymore, I’m just lucky it does! Because I don’t have anything else! I don’t even get to fucking daydream that you’re still out there anymore, that you’ll stop them someday if I can’t, because you’re the only person smart enough to catch me! Or that maybe you’d take me _back_ someday, if I somehow get the chance to explain what happened. Because right now you know _everything_ and you still hate my guts! I don’t get…” Newt’s breath caught and he choked out, “I don’t get fucking _anything_ anymore, so fuck you if you hate me for enjoying the one thing I’ve got left.”

Hermann stared. His body felt as if a weight had settled upon it, that he was brittle and about to break apart, and that was only from _hearing_ Newt. He couldn’t imagine living it, he couldn’t imagine allowing Newton to live alone with this a second longer. His voice was cracked and faint when he spoke. “I don’t hate you, Newton.”

Newt gaped at him, then barked a horrible, bitter laugh. “So you’re just gonna lie now instead of giving me the silent treatment? That’s good, smart actually, if not for the fact that, oh yeah, _you Drifted with me so I can see right fucking through you,_ ” Newt snarled.

Hermann jolted back from Newt despite himself. Had that tone had been alien, right on the edge of the Precursor’s growl, or was it only the pained snarl of a man pushed to the edge of endurance? Tears of anger glinted in Newt’s eyes. Was it another trick? Did it matter if it was, if there was even a chance the real Newton would see that he cared, that he’d never stopped?

Hermann’s hand shivered at his side and he reached out despite himself. He saw his own hand before him, wondered if he was about to get his arm broken or worse, as he bridged the touch barrier he had hardly dared, and stroked his fingertips down Newt’s cheek. “I’m not. I’m not lying, Newton. I could never hate you. I know none of this is your fault.”

Shock chased the rage from Newt’s face, and one of those angry tears slipped out and trickled down his cheek. He leaned, as if despite himself, into Hermann’s hand and he felt the warmth of Newt’s cheek brush his fingertips.

God, Hermann wanted to kiss him. How long since he had last kissed Newton? He knew he was staring at his lips, that the desire must be written all over his face, but he didn’t stop the urge. He _wanted_ Newton to see.

“Hermann, what…?” Newt squeaked out, blinking furiously. His gaze dropped so his face was hidden. Hermann thought it might be shame, or that Newt was gathering himself to kiss him first, and he couldn’t stop his stomach from swooping at the thought, and wet his lips on instinct.

When he heard their voice.

“ _Are you so sure about that?_ ” the voice growled. “ _So this is what you’ve been afraid of, little man? What you’ve been trying to hide from us? You can’t stop thinking about it now, can you?_ ”

A smile like a knife wound cut across Newt’s face and they raised his eyes, smirking at Hermann with Newt’s lips. He jerked his hand back as if scalded. “ _Your kind killed so many of our emissaries during your war, but this is the one death that haunts you? We never would have guessed. Don’t you think Dr. Gottlieb should know?”_

Newt’s entire body shivered as if he’d been hit with electric shock and his eyes widened in terror. His posture changed, shoulders rising, hand flying out to grip the countertop. “No. No, don't. _Please._ Please don’t tell him…”

Newt's shoulders dropped and a lazy grin replaced the rictus of terror. Newt’s eyes took on the gleam of a predator as the creature looked to the side, watching Hermann out of the corner of his vision and spoke to the air as if Newt stood beside himself. “ _Tell him. Or we will._ ”

Hermann watched, hypnotized by how Newt’s lips had moved when he clearly wanted to stop them, when _their_ voice came out. Good God, how had Hermann not seen it? How had he _ever_ thought that there was no distinguishing Newton and the Precursors? The difference was night and day and yet he had _wasted_ weeks in agonized over-analysis. It had been Newt. It had been Newt every time the pain was like a beacon.

Newt flinched. “H-Hermann, please believe me, it was a-an accident, a stupid accident. I should have been more careful, but the door wasn’t locked, and he saw, and they made me, Hermann. I didn’t want to, but this is why you can’t do anything stupid. They’ve done it before they’ll do it again and they’ll make me do it and they’re going to make me _watch_ again and I can’t do it, Hermann, please. Please _tell_ them you won’t make them, won’t make me…”

“Stop! Whatever it is, Newton, I won’t, I promise!” Hermann shouted. Newt’s breathing was stuttering and erratic.

“ _Come now, little man, don't you think he should hear the_ whole _story?"_ they said. Newton’s features froze into that mocking grin. “ _What it felt like to wrap your fingers around his throat? You can still hear the sound of his neck snapping, can’t you? You hear it in your dreams. Tell him what happened. All of it_ ”

Newt shuddered and his head fell forward with a choked sob, “Ok. Ok, fine, it...it was back in January, not long after they… after I started working at Shao. There was this guy, another employee, I guess he started tracking the shipments, saw there was a lot of unaccounted materials going up to… doesn’t matter. He threatened to blow it all open. Said he was going to tell Liwen I was embezzling from the company or some shit and get me fired, and they…I tried to tell them not to, but they just pushed me out of the way and then they…” Newt’s lips trembled and he squeezed his eyes shut, teardrops dripping down his face as he took a deep shivering breath, “they killed him.”

 _They killed him._ With Newton’s body. They had killed a man to keep their secret. Hermann could see it so clearly in his mind’s eye: that one man could never subvert an entire organization without _someone_ noticing. Some engineer who was just smart enough to see something was wrong, that the numbers didn't add up, and just _stupid_ enough to decide the best course of action was to confront Newton directly. Someone like Hermann. And Newton had to… they had made Newton… 

He needed to do something, to _say_ something to comfort Newton instead of standing there paralyzed. “Newton it’s alright, it’s not your fault,” Hermann forced out, as soothingly as he could. “You are a good man. I know you would never hurt anyone given a choice in the matter. You have enough burdens already, don’t take on the crimes of these creatures as well.”

But it all made sense now. Newt’s agitation when Hermann appeared on the scene that first day was not the fear of the unknown, but the horror of watching a disaster unfold for the second time. Hermann’s appearance in Newt’s flat, catching him in the act, was for Newton the second Kaiju to emerge from the Breach, not the first. He was not simply afraid that the Precursors _might_ kill Hermann for discovering their secret.

Newton knew from experience that they would kill anyone who risked their plan, because they had done so before.

“ _But that’s not all you did, is it?_ ” the voice hissed. “ _Shall we tell him? What a good boy you were, dissolving the body, wiping the surveillance tapes. He’s gotten very good at cleaning up the_ evidence _, don't you agree, Dr. Gottlieb?_ ”

Newton gave an agonized whimper, scrubbing his hands over his face. His legs bent as if they would give out and he barely caught himself on the countertop as they released their grip. The tears were streaming freely down his face. “Please, please don’t, please, don’t make me tell him, not him, please..”

“Newton…” Hermann broke in. “Whatever they’re talking about, it won’t change anything. No one can hold you accountable for what you’ve done under duress.”

Newt barked a sharp, hysterical laugh. “But this _wasn’t_.”

Hermann’s body went cold. His lips parted, he needed to interrupt, to stop Newton from whatever he was about to say next, before it could change anything. But Newt always talked too fast, and now was no exception as he began to babble, “I… hid the body. After.”

“At _their_ orders, Newton. That’s nothing to be ashamed of…”

“The Precursors didn’t know to do that!” Newt said, his gaze cast upward to the ceiling as if reciting from memory and unwilling to meet Hermann eye. His chin quivered. “It was still… early and they were new to all this...to Earth. They wouldn’t have even known _how_ to cover their tracks. They would have gotten us _caught_. So…so I hid it. Changed some records to make it look like the guy skipped town. H-His family is probably still looking for him.” He sucked down a shaking breath and sobbed, “All because I d-didn’t want to get blamed for what they did and I t-thought, I _still_ thought, like a _jackass_ , that I could get free if I just tried _harder_. Or m-maybe someone would notice, and h-help me…”

Newt closed his eyes and tears slipped down his cheeks. His voice cracked. “But no one ever did. And I couldn’t break free that day, or the day after that, or after _that_ , and then it was months and _months_ and I knew, I just _knew_... that was it. That was my chance, all I had to do was _nothing,_ and I still fucking blew it. If I hadn’t been such a fucking coward, if I hadn’t been so afraid of getting caught… At least in jail they couldn’t… they…” Newt buried his face in his hands, his words muffled as he broke down. “Hermann, they’re going to destroy the world! Everyone’s going to _die_ , because I was too scared for my own fucking skin to stop them when I had the chance, because I didn’t want to get _blamed_ for what they did!”

Hermann stood stock-still, only able to watch as Newt dropped his hands from his face. His cheeks dripped with tears and mucus, an utter mess. Newt took one look at Hermann and gave a laughing sob. “See? You don’t know what to do with that. Because it _is_ my fault and you know it.” He looked up, shouting to the empty air. “Are you assholes happy now? You were right: he’d hate me if he knew. Of course you were right. …You always are.”

 _Newton_ , Hermann’s lips parted, but the words wouldn’t come out. Had Newton cried like this that day, hunched over a computer screen to scrub the security footage, dragging that poor soul’s empty shell from the scene? Had he awoken to blood on his hands, terror pounding in his heart at the sight? Had he known the man? Would he—despite all they’d shared, despite all the love they’d once held for one another—not be able to stop himself from doing the same to Hermann?

“Oh fuck, I can’t do this,” Newt sobbed. He scrubbed his shirtsleeves over his eyes and his body shook as he stumbled out of the kitchen, towards the front door.

Hermann jerked forward after Newton, only for his breath cut short. He gagged, the collar dragging back at his throat as he reached for Newton, whose hand hovered at the doorknob. His face had gone sickly pale beneath the tears.

“I’m sorry, Hermann,” Newt whispered and slammed the door behind him.

* * *

It was after eight in the evening when Newton fled. At some point around midnight, Hermann gave up waiting by the door when the pain in his leg became too much and wandered back to the couch. He put his head in his hands, replaying the conversation once more, but this time he dared to ask himself the question.

 _Could_ he forgive Newton for what had happened?

His knee-jerk instinct was to say yes. How could anyone judge Newt for what he’d gone through, the horrors of having those monsters controlling his every move? How could anyone judge Newt for finding a body at his feet and simply panicking, knowing full well that his only possible plea would be insanity without being able to give proof of the Precursors’ control? Proof that would be all but impossible to give because of that hold. The Precursors would certainly have let Newton rot in a prison cell before they’d give away their presence.

But Hermann knew such an answer would not be enough. He owed it to Newton to do better, because such a simple, reflexive answer would not be enough to convince him. Because Hermann knew, just as Newton knew, just as Newton must be thinking at that very moment, that once upon a time, Hermann had been the exact sort of person who would judge a man a coward for not taking every step necessary to save their world.

He had been that man on the night of their Drift because there had been no choice for him, with worldwide destruction the only alternative, when there was no option _but_ to open his mind to the enemy. And that was the version of him that still lingered in Newton’s head.

He prodded the echo of Newton in his own mind half-heartedly. Except for that flash earlier in the day, the voice had been silent since he arrived here. _What should I do?_ Hermann whispered like a prayer. _Please, tell me what to do._

Once, he had never allowed Newt to tell him what to do. He’d balked at even the most simple requests rather than give away an inch of his pride. But that had never stopped him from ordering Newt about, commanding him to give up his foolish pursuit of a Kaiju Drift, snapping at him to find a more useful field for his intellect. Newton had bossed him around as well, and so they’d fought. For years they’d fought, both refusing to give in. They’d lost so much time to their idiotic pride.

Now, he had no more pride when it came to Newton. He wanted desperately to reach out and soothe his fiancé, to take him in his arms. He didn’t want to fight Newton anymore, to score ridiculous points as Newton had said the night he proposed, and Hermann would have agreed, except Hermann hadn’t been able to put such a sentiment into words that day.

He was a different man now, one who just wanted Newton _back_ , but was he in fact a better one? With the fate of the world on the line, did he have any choice but to be a _better_ man, one who stayed aloof? One who kept his mind clear for the opportunity, unclouded by sentiment, to once again save their world, no matter the personal cost?

 _Ok, but was saving the world really the_ only _reason you Drifted with me?_ Newt’s voice whispered.

Hermann straightened like a shot. It was always uncanny to hear that voice, like having Newton whispering in his ear, as if he were sitting beside him on the couch and at the thought his heart _ached_. “What other reason could there possibly be?” Hermann said aloud, incredulously.

 _Come on, Hermann,_ Newt’s voice scoffed, calm and mocking and miles away from the pained and shivering wreck of a man that a year of the Precursor’s control had left. Would Hermann ever see this version of Newt again, or was he as lost as their life together? _Maybe you can lie to me, and you can lie to you, but you can’t lie to both of us at the same time and I_ am _you at this point, so stop playing dumb. You know what I mean._

Hermann’s lips parted in bafflement. “I… truly don’t.”

The Newt echo sighed. _Oh, I dunno, maybe the reason was… this?_

Hermann seized on the sofa, hands flying out to grip the cushion as his vision _whited_.

_It is January 8, 2025 and Hermann is walking towards the lab. It’s eight in the morning, an earlier start than usual to his day, because Operation Pitfall is a go. Hermann’s data providing the intelligence Pentecost needs to make it a success, to save humanity. He is more proud than he’s ever been in his life to start work that day and more terrified._

_Except when he arrives at the lab, he isn’t the first one there._

_Newton lies on the ground in a tangle of wires, some sort of modified Pons askew on his head. There’s blood streaming from his nose and he’s twitching. He might already be dead and it’s just the electric current jolting the dead tissue and Hermann is… Hermann is…_

_(…Here and there at once as he_ feels _Newt’s memories, the electricity racing over his skin, but it’s not electricity it’s Hermann’s touch and he can still see the Anteverse opening up like a vision of Hell before his eyes but it’s ok, Hermann’s hands are on his face and he could never tell Hermann how much he wants this but he can barely remember not to tell him, because_ they _are coming_ _and they were never animals as Newt hoped and feared. They’re an army and he has to tell Hermann, because he’s never been…)_

_…More terrified than he’s ever been in his life. More terrified than even a moment before, at the prospect of saving the world or taking the blame for its fall. He is kneeling down beside Newton, dragging the Pons off his head and Newton’s body into his arms and he can’t remember the world anymore. His world in his arms and he sees it all in a blinding flash, all the truths he had hidden from himself._

_He had_ known _Newt’s Drift would work. The science was sound. The value to their cause incalculable, but Hermann had pushed back. He had fought Newton, had told Pentecost it was hogwash, had done everything in his power to scuttle this experiment before it could happen. Why?_

_To prevent this exact inevitability. So that he wouldn’t have to watch Newton die, even if it meant the whole world might die._

_But he had gone about it all wrong. He should have known Newton couldn’t be stopped with orders and dismissiveness, by Hermann keeping his distance instead of admitting that it was Newton he feared for more than the world. It was his pride that kept him from admitting it because he knew now, he_ knew _what he’d done wrong._

_It was allowing Newton to go alone. Hermann knows he can never do that again, cannot survive watching Newton destroy himself to save others. So when the worst happens, when the inevitable happens, and Pentecost is demanding one more Drift and Newt has to, because it’s to save the world, but Newton can’t do it…_

_(…Not again, he can’t do it again. Until he can. Until he has to. And it’s a day of impossibilities from Drifting with a Kaiju, to seeing one up close, to running from one for his life through the streets, but none of it is as impossible as Hermann saying…)_

_… I’ll go with you. Hermann doesn’t recognize himself in that moment but he knows it’s true and it’s more than that, it’s the only truth he’s ever known. He has never been so certain of anything in his life than the fact he can’t let Newton do this alone. Not to save the world, not to save a billion faceless human lives, but to save the only one that matters. And all it required was for one of them to give up his pride first, to bend first, because together… together they are…_

Hermann snapped back to himself, breathing hard, seeing everything, seeing it all. “God, what have I done?”

And he knew what he had to do.

* * *

It was three in the morning when the front door opened, and Hermann was ready. He rose to his feet just as Newton stumbled in the door, blinking at the lights in the kitchen.

“Wha-? You... shoulda gone to sleep. You should be asleep,” Newt frowned. The reek of stale alcohol roiled off his body, and Hermann’s heart twisted. Not the first time, not even the tenth in the few weeks he’d been here that Newton came home nearly insensate with alcohol and, God, how had he allowed this to go on? “Whatever, jus’… jus’ lemme… get out of your hair, just lemme…”

Hermann put a hand on Newt’s shoulder, holding him in place. It wasn’t hard, the man could barely stay upright.

“This has to stop,” Hermann said, staring deep into Newton’s eyes, as if he could see into his mind, see those loathsome creatures crouching within it like demonic puppeteers, controlling Newton’s every move. The skin around Newt’s eyes was puffy and red from crying, and his gaze was unfocused, tracking just out of sync. Alcohol. Far too much of it.

Newt flinched. His gaze skittered past Hermann, looking longingly to the curtain over the bedroom door. “Can… can you not? Can we just…not right now, ‘Erms? I’m just… tired, so ffffucking tired and those _jerks_ at the bar kicked me out and I can’, _ha_ , can’t get a hotel ‘cuz _they_ want me here. So jus… just lemme go to bed and you can…can lecture me in the mornin’, and forever, ‘cuz we’re s-stuck here, forever…”

“ _Shh_ … Don’t worry, Newton, it’s going to be alright,” Hermann hushed. He used his fingertips to guide Newt’s head, which had fallen to his chest as he rambled, up so he could look once more into his eyes. _Come now, you bastards, it’s time to talk on_ my _terms for once_. Hermann took a deep breath and traced his thumb over Newt’s cheek. _Fortune favors the brave._ “And besides, I wasn’t talking to you.”

“Huh?” Newt slurred and squinted at him.

“I wasn’t talking to you, Newton,” Hermann said. “I was talking to _them_.”

Newt’s eyes widened. Then he rocked back, opening his mouth to say something in alarm when he…changed. Hermann could see it so _clearly_ now, how Newt’s body language became sharper and subtly alien. They were bipedal creatures, but clearly they could not entirely master human mannerisms when not giving Newt some modicum of control.

“ _And what do_ you _want, Dr. Gottlieb?_ ” Their voice was colder, dismissive when they spoke from his lips, in a way Newt had never been even during their cruelest arguments.

“It is not merely something I _want_ , but rather something I can do for you,” Hermann said crisply. Shivers of fear raced through his body but he kept an iron grip on himself, even forced a self-assured smile in the face of their sudden frown. “You have to let me take care of him.”

The Precursors snorted in derision. “ _As if we can trust anything you offer._ ”

“You need not trust me to see the clear evidence before your eyes. If you do not let me take care of him, your host will die,” Hermann pronounced. “You’re placing too much stress on his body, and between the Drifts, the alcohol, and the lack of nourishment, he is beginning to break down. If that progresses, he will be a less effective vessel. What’s more, humans are extremely apt at detecting when one of our herd is experiencing bodily failure. He will be shunned and may lose his job at Shao if he’s seen as a drunkard or illness makes it impossible for him to work.”

“ _We can overcome human fragility_ ,” the Precursors sneered, but the twist of their mouth was annoyed and considering. Hermann pressed home his advantage.

“But for how long? Give me some time with him, at regular intervals where I can prepare meals and see that he gets rest and nourishment. That means no Drifting, and light control measures. Set your parameters however you wish to prevent our escape, I do not care. The man needs at least the illusion of privacy within his own mind and a full night’s sleep or he will begin to break down mentally as well. And I’m not sure how well you can function within a damaged brain,” Hermann said and resisted the urge to look towards the rotting brain in the tank.

The Precursors went still. Uncanny, to see all the effects of the alcohol, Newt’s swaying, and his unfocused gaze, simply vanish under their control. Hermann’s heart pounded. He had no other card to play, but this had to work. Surely they were sophisticated enough to understand his offer and the necessity for it?

“… You have one day. Any further will depend on his good behavior. And yours,” the creatures said. Hermann’s heart thrilled. Yet it was utterly unsettling to know so certainly it was not Newt looking out from his own eyes, speaking with his own lips. It went far beyond simple psychosis, Hermann sensed he was beginning to understand early man’s fear of possession by the demonic. Every sense in Hermann’s body prickled at their presence, the fine hairs of his arm standing on end. _Danger_ , his primitive mind shouted over every channel.

Hermann steadied himself and stuck out his hand. “Then we have a deal?”

The creature smirked, looking down at the hand. It must understand the gesture, it had already spent too much time in Shao’s corporation not to. But its fingers slid up Hermann’s palm as if they were the spindly sensors on the alien beings they were, and wrapped around Hermann’s fingers. “ _Remember, we are watching._ ”

They clenched Newt’s fingers around Hermann’s, to just this side of pain, just this side of their bargain with Newt, and did not release.

Newt’s body started, and he shivered and gasped with a thin cry as he collapsed forward, into Hermann’s arms, body shaking wildly.

“Come now, darling,” Hermann murmured. He strained to stay upright, pain shot up his leg, but he managed to shift Newt onto his good shoulder without dropping him. “Let’s get you some water.”

He ignored the wild, rabbit-like pounding of his heart. The sense of the noose tightening. Those fears served no purpose and besides, right now one of them needed to be the steady on, and for now, that was him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! If you have a moment, I'd dearly love to know what you thought of this chapter!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to alsobarebear, kingofsasslocks, and Latsin for the beta help, and sarah1281 for the constant encouragement! I couldn't have done it without you guys!

**Saturday, September 5, 2026 - Two Hours Prior**

At one in the morning, the bartender flicked the lights for last call. Newt could barely see the lacquered wooden bar where he sat through the haze when he signaled for as many more whiskey doubles as they’d give him, straight up. The bartender raised an eyebrow but didn’t say anything more, just turned around to select the bottle Newt pointed to on the top shelf. _Yeah, that’s right, fucker,_ Newt thought. _Only the best for the head of Shao fucking R &D. _

It turned out the number they’d serve him was three, which should get him through at least another hour. He wasn’t hungry anymore, despite not having time to grab dinner before Hermann jumped him with his stupid _questions_ and his curiosity that was about three weeks or thirteen months too late, depending on how you sliced it. There was too much liquid in his stomach for him to be hungry and that was fine. Everything was fine. He knew he wasn’t fine. He’d played in enough bars to know he shouldn’t be getting served anymore. Not bars like this, he’d never played anywhere that served thousand dollar bottles of wine and didn’t ask questions. Those kinds of places didn’t allow shitty bands like Newt’s to bother the clientele with his screechy voice and half-baked lyrics. God, they'd been awful.

( _He’d never thought that before. The thought didn’t feel like his_ own _. His band had been_ awesome _, but now Newt looked back and the voices in his head pointed out how their songs were stupid and his voice was unbearable. No wonder no one came to their shows. No wonder he’d never been a rockstar._ )

The bartender shouldn’t be serving him, that was the point. He’d been drinking— he looked blearily down at his watch that cost more than their year’s rent in Hong Kong—for hours. A lot of hours, and he _still_ couldn’t drink enough to get the image out of his mind. Of Hermann standing stock-still in the kitchen, looking at Newt like he’d never seen him before, with a fucking _chain_ around his neck that Newt had put there and god, he couldn’t do this, he couldn’t wait long enough to watch that shock collapse into understanding, into disgust, into utter rejection and horror.

 _We helped save the world together and you gave it away to save your own skin?_  a voice whispered in his mind that could have been the Drift echo of Hermann, or the Precursors, or his own and, at this point, was there a difference between them?

Newt’s tattoos swam in and out of his vision—fuck, he missed his glasses, he missed being able to just not _see_ things— as he reached out to wrap shaking fingers around the first whiskey. How long since he’d held a scalpel, or a guitar, or another person’s ( _Hermann’s)_ hand, just because he wanted to?

Hermann wouldn’t want to touch his hand again. Hermann wouldn’t want to touch him at all, ever. The Precursors had seen to that. The next time he’d get to touch Hermann would probably be years from now, once they’d ground him down and ground him down to the point where they finally convinced Newt that wrapping his hands around Hermann’s throat seemed like a good idea. Merciful. Spare him the apocalypse. Spare him the atmosphere turning to fire and Kaiju Blue turning the ocean to poison. Spare him the slow, toxic death of everyone who wasn’t crushed underfoot in the first wave of attacks when the new breaches opened and the Kaiju came pouring through. Not puny little hounds, Categories One through Three, but the full-on war machines that the Precursors had been planning to send next, that didn’t even _have_ categories yet but might turn out to be double digits.

God, Newt hoped _he’d_ be dead by then. It would be just like them to keep him alive, just to make him watch.

The Precursors prickled with interest at the direction of his thoughts.

 **_Why wait? Kill him now,_ ** they hissed. **_He knows everything and he hates you for it. Ungrateful. All you sacrificed to protect him, how hard you’ve worked, good little pet, keeping him alive and he is silent? So silent, and you know your mate is silent because he hates you, so why tolerate it? Why not bite down, crunch, tear him apart, good little emissary that you are…_ **

“Would you shut the _fuck up?_ ” Newt snarled. The bartender jerked around and other weary heads at the bar glanced up. Even the couple that was practically grinding on one another three chairs down turned to stare.

“Ah, I mean…” Newt said. He could hear his own voice slurring. It sounded far away. Fuck, the room was warping around him like a funhouse mirror and he could _still_ only see Hermann staring at him in the kitchen, face gone white, and the collar at his… “Sorry, this idiot, y’know?”

Newt gestured helplessly to the Bluetooth earpiece he wore pretty much 24/7 these days when he wasn’t in reach of Hermann. Corporate douchebag stuff, but it fit the image and let him explain away weird outbursts where he forgot to yell at his passengers _inside_ his head instead of aloud. They liked shit like that. It hurt less when they liked the things he did. When he wasn’t disruptive. Had he remembered to turn the earpiece on? Or did he just look like a lunatic shouting at himself in a bar?

Turned out it didn’t matter, as the glassy looks of disinterest returned and one by one the people he’d pissed off turned back to what they were doing. Bored already. God, how could anyone be _bored_ when they had their own fucking lives they could live as they chose, and no voice in their head? When they were _out_ for the evening because they wanted to be and not because their fiancé—former? who fucking knew anymore, it wasn’t like he could _ask_ —was  _trapped_ and _hated_ them now, with good reason because… because…

Newt groaned and buried his face in his hands. The room spun every time he blinked. He felt nauseous and weightless and he opened his eyes again before it could become too much and pounded the rest of the first whiskey. Two left. They couldn’t kick him out before he finished them, right? He should slow down.

 _Honestly, Newton,_ a voice scoffed in his head and ok this one was _definitely_ Hermann’s Drift echo. No one else could fill his name with the level of disdain usually reserved for something stuck to the underside of their shoe. _You’re only playing into_ their _hands with this, you know. Alcohol is a depressant. You’re sapping your body’s ability to fight and your brain’s edge, handing them the advantage over you, all for what? A few hours of inebriated self-indulgence where you can simply_ forget _what they will do to our world? What_ you _will do as their puppet if you fail to stop them?_

“You make it sound like forgetting is such a bad thing,” Newt grumbled into his drink, when had he grabbed the next one? He tapped the earpiece for good measure like he was trying to hear out of it better, not that anyone was looking. Not that anyone cared.

 _It is if it’s at the cost of your mental faculties,_ Hermann’s echo said waspishly. _You’re tearing down your own ability to resist instead of dealing with the root problem. Lazy. Always looking for the shortcut instead of doing the work, like Drifting with the Kaiju brain instead of figuring out on your own, through proofs and_ research, _that the Breach would only allow its own kind to pass through._

“Yeah, then why did you help me if you’re so fucking smart?” Newt bit back and didn’t try to muffle his voice. People already thought he was on some sort of weird four-hour conference call in a bar at one in the morning or they thought he was crazy, it wasn’t like it fucking mattered. The whiskey was acrid in his mouth and he barely tasted it. Was he getting used to it, or had his tongue just gone numb? His whole face felt numb, and his body, everything except his _brain,_ and the stupid voices in his head were fuzzy and far away and he wished they’d just _shut up_. _God_ , he missed weed. He even missed his _meds,_ just the ability to shut down all the crazy spiraling thoughts in his head except for one, or better yet _none_. He’d wanted the whiskey to force his thoughts _out_ of his skull. Instead, he felt like he had trapped himself inside with them. “What about that, Hermann? Why’d you help me if it was so _lazy?_ ”

The voice went silent, not switched off or suppressed, but like it was taken aback. Newt could almost _see_ Hermann recoiling at the question, his mouth working like it did when he wanted to spew a dozen different retorts and insults at once and couldn’t find the right one.

 _One point to Team Geiszler_ , Newt thought wearily. God, he missed _not_ fighting with Hermann all the time about stupid shit, but he only had that with the new Hermann. The new-old Hermann, the old-new… whatever. Post-Drift. He was never getting that Hermann back, the one who worked _with_ him instead of against him all the time. Now his only choices were silent treatment Hermann or old, throw-chalk-at-his-head Echo Hermann and fuck, he’d take the second one just to have _someone_ to talk to.

There wasn’t any trace of _his_ Hermann, the one who maybe loved him back, the one he'd  _proposed_ to in the echo. This bastard was still prickly and pissed all the time, still smarting from that stupid first meeting in the coffee shop in 2017 that Newt had fucked up, and _maybe_ at the _couple_ of times when Newt dropped Kaiju entrails on his side of the line, though that was just so Hermann would notice him. It was pigtail pulling, that was all. Even back when he’d been so mad at Hermann for his prissiness and his PPDC worship and his dumb abstract _theories_ that Newt could just spit _nails—_ even _then_ the jabs were to get Hermann to notice him. He could admit it. He’d asked the guy to marry him, for fuck’s sake.

 _Come on, answer me,_ Newt thought back furiously at the Drift echo. He imagined grabbing the vision of Hermann from two years ago by his stupid argyle sweater-vest and shaking him the way he never would the real one, not with his leg. _Fucking answer me, goddamnit, why did you Drift with me if it was so_ stupid, _if it was so_ lazy _? Yeah, I know it was! I know we’re stuck in this nightmare because it was and everyone is gonna die! But it saved the fucking world that time, so what’s your fucking problem, huh? That’s why you did it, isn’t it, to save the world? You never did it_ for _me, you didn’t care if your fucking pen pal died except that he might not get the intel back to Pentecost! Except I don't believe that for a second because that would mean the Drift just flipped a switch in your head and all of a sudden you want to shove your tongue down my throat and out of nowhere we’re fucking, and going on dates, and living together! Even though you_ still _thought I’d want to work for a piece of shit like Shao, for a bunch of fucking monsters. So why'd you_ really _do it, Herms, huh? Did you ever fucking care for me, ever?_

There were tears trickling down his face and fuck, when had he started crying? God, he was drunk and a mess, wiping the backs of his hands over his eyes and the cold, ugly-ass ring— the one that covered his left ring finger and half his fucking hand so he didn’t have to _see_ the tattooed black band—kept catching on his skin as he scraped the tears off his cheek.

And why was he even talking to this stupid echo? It wasn’t the real Hermann. He was a scientist, he _knew_ that. The echo was just an interface, a way for his brain to process having a second lifetime of memories dropped into it all of a sudden so his _head_ didn’t explode or whatever from not being able to sort the two lives out. Even the way it spoke and the memories it accessed were just a reflection of him, just his own consciousness talking to itself with Hermann’s memories.

 _Come on, there had to be something, right?_  he begged anyway, because it was all he had. _It wasn’t all bad in the lab, or before that, right? There had to be times when we were writing those goddamn snail mail letters, some point when you thought about me and didn’t hate my fucking guts. I didn’t… I didn’t ruin it all tonight, did I?_

His hands dug into his hair, but in his mind his hands were shaking Hermann, trying to reach _past_ him, to get right to the guts of the memories, peel the echo back like an orange skin to see a _glimpse_ of something sweet underneath it all.

 _Please, pleasepleaseplease_ , Newt pleaded. He had bitten his lip and the whiskey stung the cut when he choked down another sip, _God,_ _there’s gotta be something, please._ He reached past Hermann, into the raw memories, the squishy brain matter his head had built the echo around to protect him because it was all unfiltered chaos underneath, and in it he found…

_Hermann standing at the chalkboard and when he glances back, Newt is up to his elbows in viscera and there’s a smudge of neutralized blue on his cheek, the ridiculous man, he thinks with fond exasperation. He wants to stop what he’s doing to wipe his handkerchief over Newt’s cheek, to scrub it clean, but he can’t. That’s not what they are to each other, and they never will be, because Newt..._

_… is sitting across from him in the coffee shop and Hermann feels small and stupid and awful as Newt natters on about how the Jaegers that Hermann programmed aren’t going to solve anything, that the key is to understand the Kaiju, and then hot anger is pouring into Hermann’s chest. He rises half out of his chair to shout back and God, how had he ever thought this man could care about anything except himself and his beloved_ Kaiju? _And just like that, the love Hermann felt… no, that puppy-like_ infatuation _that once fluttered in Hermann’s heart melts away to leave something cold and implacable in its place, something that refuses to give even an inch of his pride, and he is…_

 _…walking into the new lab and he never imagined it would be this small even with the funding cuts, he never imagined that he’d have to share the space with a_ Kaiju _biologist, and worse, with_ that _Kaiju biologist after all these years, the one who had broken his…_

 _…chalk snaps in half between his fingers and he’s turning to chuck the pieces at Newt’s head as hard as he can, but Newt only laughs in his face as he dodges. The man is so_ infuriating, _why can’t he see that Hermann is_ working, _that there are_ lives _at stake, lives that would be lost to his precious_ Kaijus _? The Kaijus that he loved so much_ more _than he ever loved…_

… _Hermann’s theory, and it has to be right, they have to find a way to stabilize the Breach, to destroy it, but Newt is babbling to Marshal Pentecost about his inane Kaiju Drift,  because of course Newton wants to touch minds with those creatures. He's going to get himself_ killed _for them if Hermann didn’t find a way to stop him, if Hermann doesn’t save him first…_

 _…because, fool that he is, he can’t do it. He can’t let Newton do this alone, because he can’t watch Newton die. He failed. The flutter is back in his heart like it never left because it hadn’t. It had never been only a hopeless infatuation, and even though he knows it will never be returned, he feels like he’s going to shake apart. He knows that if Newton goes alone he will die, and Hermann will be alone, and try as he might he can’t be glad of a world that is free of Kaijus if it is also free of Newton Geiszler, and he knows inside him, in a part that is burning with shame, and anger, that feels small and stupid and awful and_ cowardly _and_ humiliated, _that he doesn’t care about the other six billion people on Earth, that’s not why he fought this war, and he’ll face the mind of the enemy itself if it means Newton won’t…_

**_Enough._ **

Newt jerked upright and the whiskey sloshed over his hand. His head had been halfway to the table and the tears on his cheek were cool now. He blinked awake, hadn’t realized he was dozing. There was still one glass of whiskey left. The bar was empty except for him and the lights back on.

For a moment he had _been_ there. He’d been in the night of their Drift, in Hermann’s head, and he’d felt the  _pounding_ in his heart: a terrible, aching fear for him, for Newt, for himself, for Hermann, it was all muddled who was who. He wanted to wrap that memory around him like a blanket, wanted it to keep him warm while he found a park bench somewhere to sleep off the booze, the way he would after a show when he didn’t want to pay for a hotel room.

Maybe he could just sleep here at the bar. He’d paid them enough for a month’s rent. He could just curl up in a booth and never have to bother the real Hermann again, never have to face being a stranger to him, one who let someone die and then covered it up so the Precursors wouldn’t get caught and leave him holding the bag.

“Time to go home, Mr. Geiszler,” the bartender said, and Newt startled at a light tap on his shoulder. It was like being electrocuted, just feeling the pressure of human contact against his skin. He could just lean into it. Was that weird? It sounded weird in his head and  _they'd_ never let him go home with anyone anyway.

“That's  _Dr._ Geiszler,” Newt slurred and was that a strain of an English accent in his voice? He felt like he was still buried up to his elbows in Hermann’s memories, residual Drift bleed making him care about _titles_ , and it was so stupid it was almost adorable. He smirked to himself before the smile fell. Right. Hermann. In his apartment, chained to the floor. “Listen, bud, how’s about I slip you a few bucks and you let me stay here so I can finish my drink?”

“Sorry, doc, I’d love to, but it’s two a.m. Law says we gotta close,” the bartender said. He wasn’t ugly. Actually, he was kind of insanely hot, a little younger than Newt, local, with his black hair tied back, and an easy, apologetic grin. He would have been way too hot for Newt back when he was a free man, and probably wouldn’t look at him twice now that he looked like a square. “Trouble at home with Alice?”

Newt blinked at him hazily. “You know about Alice?”

“Sure, you used to talk about her all the time. I hope everything’s ok,” the guy said. “Listen, I can help you get a cab, but I have to lock up.”

“Oh, come on, man,” Newt whined. That was right, before Hermann showed up, he used to talk about ‘Alice’ all the time. It had started out as a joke, talking about the ‘girl’ back home that made him feel so good. When had it stopped feeling like a joke? “Just another hour?”

“We’re closed. What’s Alice’s number? I’ll ask her to come pick you up.”

At that Newt started to laugh. There were still tears in his eyes, and he laughed so hard they slipped free and down his cheeks. “No one… no one at home is gonna be able to come get me, bud,” he hiccuped.

“Oh. Sorry...” the bartender said looking chagrinned. He glanced over his shoulder at the door. “Maybe I can send you to a hotel instead? If things aren’t good at home…”

 **_You will return. Now,_ ** their voice snapped in his head, shaking his whole body.

“N-No, no hotels,” Newt stuttered.

The bartender gave him a strange look. Did it show? Had he said something strange, could this guy _see..._  god, could anyone _see_ what was happening inside his head? He felt like mirrored glass with monsters pressed up against the walls inside him, _can’t anyone see they’re right_ there _just look, for fuck’s sake,_ please.

 **_If he does suspect then we will kill him too,_ ** the voices hissed in his head.

“No cabs either!” Newt squeaked. He grabbed his last whiskey off the bar, swung it back in one gulp and didn’t even wince, though it burned in his chest all the way down. He stumbled when he rose to his feet. A cold sweat had broken out over his body. “Just add it to my tab.”

“You… already paid,” the bartender said with a frown.

“Great. Good. I’ll just… just head home now. Are you sure I can’t stay longer?”

“Doc, I’m sorry, but I really can’t…”

**_Leave. Now._ **

“Fucking _pricks_. Not you. Forget it, forget I said that. I’ll uh, go. I’ll just… go.”

The night air washed over Newt’s body as he stumbled out the door of the bar and leaned panting against the glass. His legs wobbled beneath him, he probably shouldn’t have had that last drink. Or the five before that. Something crinkled in his jacket and he frowned as he pulled out a crumpled receipt.

Newt’s eyebrows rose at the number of zeros after the price before he shoved it back in the pocket. Precursors. Bastards, paying his tab for him so he couldn’t even get the cops called and sleep it off in a cell. He knew if he tried to walk anywhere except home—or whatever passed as _home_ now because this sure as hell wasn’t his _real_ home, his apartment with Hermann back in Hong Kong— that every step he took would lead him right back. He was walking right now. They were piloting him again, those fucking _bastards_ , except he could barely feel it because his skin was numb and his head was floaty.

Good. This was… good. This was why he did it, why he got drunk as often as he could. They still puppeteered him, still talked through him, made his hands move and his mouth babble. Ran him around their little maze like a lab rat, pressing buttons, looking for the little _drip, drip, drip_ of the reward at the end, Drifting with Alice and the crashing beautiful _gold_ flashing through his head, angel choirs singing in his ears and blood hopped up on pure _pleasure_. But at least completely, utterly smashed he couldn’t feel them pressing down on his eyeballs and his tongue and his _brain_ and hey, maybe this wasn’t so bad.

He’d done it. He wasn’t thinking about Hermann now. Hermann was probably asleep. And in the morning Newt would get up and puke his guts out like he did every time he drank late, then he’d slip out before Hermann woke up and that would… that would be his life. Just leaving earlier and staying out longer every day so he didn’t have to see the disappointment, the sheer inevitable _hatred_ in Hermann’s eyes.

The last drink was hitting his system now, he could feel it, with his gaze wavering two inches in front of his feet as he trudged back to the apartment. Even if he tried to pass out on the road or throw himself in front of traffic before he got there, they’d stop him. He could always make it back to his apartment thanks to them, even as his consciousness faded and his stomach churned and his vision narrowed to a single spot in front of him. Hey, it was almost a silver lining.

Sort of.

It was barely any time at all before he was in front of the door: penthouse level, number 404, _not found_ _._ Not that anyone got the joke. No matter how much he dragged his feet or tried to slow down he always got there, always ended up _not found_.

He just had to go in. What was the worst that could happen? The first day of the rest of his life was in front of him, with no hope, none at all, and there wasn’t any choice, he was going in, in three, two, one…

The lights were on and Hermann… Hermann was awake. At the sight of the door opening, he unfolded from the couch, his eyes fixed on Newt.

 _Oh, fuck me_. Newt’s stomach dropped. There was something _implacable_  in Hermann’s expression and Newt knew, he just knew, they were going to do this now, when he was too drunk to stand. When he was so fucking _exhausted_ he could barely keep his eyes open. Hermann was talking and Newt barely heard him, just kept looking at the curtain he’d jury-rigged over the bedroom door so Hermann wouldn’t have to see Alice—so Newt wouldn’t have to feel his eyes when they made him Drift—as he mumbled something, and god, couldn’t they just do this _tomorrow?_

“And besides, I wasn’t talking to you, Newton,” Hermann said and licked his lips that way he did when he was nervous. Newt’s hazy vision refocused on him just as Hermann said, “I was talking to _them._ ”

 _Oh fu—_ Newt sucked in a sharp breath, a surge of panic like nausea rising up in his chest and then—

Darkness.

* * *

**Saturday, September 5, 2026 - Present**

Hermann’s heart was still pounding as he hefted Newt onto the shoulder of his good side. The man’s head lolled, he seemed barely conscious if not for his eyes being open, practically dead weight as Hermann lugged him towards the couch. Some water and a lie-down, that would do the trick. Food too, if he could force it down Newton’s throat. Had the man eaten? Hermann realized with a flash of guilt that his ambushing of Newton had likely robbed the man of his dinner.

And there was the fact that Hermann had just _confronted_ the Precursors. He had _challenged_ them, laid down demands and _forced_ them to see his line of reasoning. To _accept_ it. The creatures that had sent the Kaijus to their world, that were even now plotting a renewed assault on humanity, had come when he called. They had _listened_ to him. They had _agreed_ to his _terms_. He had _negotiated_ with inhuman beings from another galaxy for the right to make sure Newton had three square meals a day, something Hermann had struggled with even when he and Newt were free and living together. He wondered if he’d be up to the task.

Hermann barked a sharp, hysterical laugh, and realized his heart was beating so hard it felt it would pound out of his chest. His leg was a rod of pain but he barely felt it. He was high on terror and adrenaline. He had gained their _permission_ to take care of Newton, so that Newton would be a better vessel for the destruction of the world, because Hermann would go _mad_ if he didn’t do something before Newton shook himself apart with self-hatred. He had done it for love, that most foolish and noble of human emotions, and good God, Newton was making him think in poetry, which was a sure sign the world was going to end, but somehow it felt _right_. His attempted distance, his emotional separation, and silence had failed. Now was the time to change tactics, to trust that they were stronger together, that only _together_ they could…

“Herm… Herm, ssstop, stop laughing, lemme go. M'gonna be sick,” Newt wheezed against his chest.

 _Oh_. _Bugger_. Change of plan. Hermann limped instead to the washroom. He had barely lowered them both to the cold tile floor, gripping the wall as he did so, when Newt fumbled free of his arms and fell onto his hands and knees in front of the toilet where he proceeded, from the sound of it, to make a valiant effort to throw up everything he’d eaten for the past year. Hermann winced.

Perhaps he should have known that the reality of loving one Newton Geiszler to distraction and likely self-destruction would always be uncomfortable, messy, and rather ridiculous, as if in deliberate defiance of any delusions of grandeur or high romance Hermann might harbor. He thought this glumly as he went back to the kitchen to fetch Newton a glass of water.

For the next hour, Hermann did his best to coax water into Newt’s slack mouth between bouts of retching. The sound was god-awful and turned Hermann’s stomach but it was so strangely, refreshingly _normal_ he couldn’t quite find it within himself to be put off. If anything, he discovered to his surprise, a surge of warmth ballooned in his chest, pity at Newton’s entirely pedestrian misery mingled with exasperated fondness. Hermann hadn’t even realized he’d placed his hand on Newt’s back until it was resting there, and at the sight, he froze.

It was like any other time Newton had been ill, when Hermann had done the same, only it wasn’t. The circumstances, their situation, the world itself was different. And yet... Newton was ill. He needed Hermann’s help. He would have done the same for Hermann. Had, in fact, when their situations were reversed. Hermann wanted to touch him. Hermann didn’t know if Newton even wanted to be touched by him, or ever would again…

But Newt gave a pathetic mewl and collapsed back against his touch, and that was that. Hermann gave up and gave in to the desire to rub small circles on Newt’s back, and perhaps that was all the words needed as Newt sighed and slowly keeled over to the side to press his cheek against the tile wall, mouth slack and eyelids fluttering. There was a sheen of sweat glistening on his face from the exertion, and without thinking, Hermann began stripping Newt of the excess layers.

Newt moved like a rag-doll, allowing Hermann to remove his jacket, and then the silk shirt and tie until Newt was down to a black undershirt, his tattoos standing out bright under the fluorescent lights of the bathroom. His clothes were soaked through with sweat and the reek of alcohol and, apparently, dry clean only. He hesitated at the sight of the garish silver ring that covered a good half of Newton's left ring finger, and in the end decided to leave it. He wasn't sure he was strong enough yet to look beneath, to see if there was anything left at all. Hermann sighed and went back to folding Newt's shirt and jacket when he heard a crinkle from the jacket pocket.

With a frown, Hermann reached in and drew out what appeared to be a receipt, dated to that night. It must have come from the bar. and there were… a great number of drinks listed on the bill, as well as an eyebrow-raising number of zeros after the final tab. All for shots of Japanese whiskey, top shelf if the price was any indication. Hermann’s eyebrows rose further as he cast a glance at Newt.

“I see your palate has finally matured,” he murmured in astonishment. Lord knew, Hermann had tried on more than one occasion to introduce Newton to wine that didn’t come from a box and the wonders of a fine Scotch, to little avail. Newton was 'a PBR man’ by his own admission, that dreadful American swill. Supposedly because it reminded him of his band days at MIT, but more likely because the claim drove Hermann to distraction.

 _Yeah, but only when I couldn’t get weed,_ the echo of Newt snickered at the back of Hermann’s mind.

Hermann rolled his eyes. _You’re not helping right now. Unless you have some suggestion on how to bundle him—yourself—off to bed before he turns himself inside-out?_

_Pfft, based on that receipt, homeboy here isn’t gonna want anything except a medically induced coma for the next day or so, but if you want my professional opinion as a fully-licensed marine biologist, I’d say he’s shit out of luck except for the usual: fluids, food if he can keep it down, and a good eighteen hours of sleep._

_There must be something more I can do,_ Hermann thought back. The poor man looked wretched, and while Hermann had never failed to chastise Newton for his excesses (usually while fetching the aspirin) both before and after they got together, this just felt like insult on top of cruel injury.

 _I dunno, Herms,_ the echo of Newt said, and his voice grew uncharacteristically soft. _Maybe just be there for him? That’s what we always needed, more than anything else._

Hermann’s hand paused mid-stroke down Newt’s back. _I intend to, from now on._

_Well, there ya go. Took you long enough._

“‘Ermann?” Newt slurred. Hermann straightened and shook his head to clear his thoughts.

“Yes, darling?” Hermann said and winced at the familiarity. It felt like taking advantage in Newton’s state, but at the endearment, a soft, beatific and very drunken smile spread across Newt’s face. He closed his eyes, and Hermann only barely caught Newt as he sighed and fell backward against Hermann’s chest, then turned his head up to nuzzle against Hermann’s throat.  

“‘M dreaming, aren’t I?” Newt murmured.

“Are you often violently ill in your dreams?” Hermann scoffed. Newt snickered and Hermann’s heart twisted with a rush of fondness so powerful it ached. It was a sound from another time, a better time, far away.

“You’d be surprised,” Newt slurred. “There’s the one about that time with the Blue poisoning and the… the quarantine? Remember that?”

Hermann snorted. “Good Lord, yes, I remember. You were ill for days, and whined incessantly until I brought you coffee and, what was it, your GameBoy? Because you were too delirious to get any actual work done.”

“Yeah…” Newt grinned, his eyes still close. A line appeared between his eyebrows as distress flickered across his face. “But you were nice to me. Sooo nice to me, I almost wanted to do it again but…but on purpose. So you’d be nice to me again. Dream about that one aaaall the time.”

“Of course I was ‘nice’ to you, you scared the daylights out of me,” Hermann murmured. He traced his hand idly down the whorl of tattoos on Newt’s bicep. Holding Newton was like having a hot water bottle pressed to his heart. His body was a furnace, likely from the drink, and his cheeks were flushed. “For future reference, there’s no need to poison yourself for me to be ‘nice’ to you, so I’d thank you not to do anything so foolish again, never mind on _purpose_.”

“See, there’s the Hermann I know, always yelling at me, even when you’re being nice,” Newt murmured. “Even when you’re not real.”

Hermann frowned and craned down to study Newt’s face. “What?”

“Look, I know… I know this is just a Drift memory but could you…hold me like this, for a bit? S’been a rough day.” Newt’s head lolled to the side and his eyes fluttered open to look up at Hermann. “M’gonna wake up any minute, and you're gonna hate me, forever. I jus’…I just want to lie here for a second, I just…” he sniffled.

“ _Shh_ ,” Hermann whispered. His throat was so tight it was unbearable. “You’re not dreaming, and I am so, so very sorry for allowing you to think I ever hated you. You’ve done nothing but apologize to me for what isn’t your fault, and I haven’t apologized even once for putting you into such an impossible situation or thanked you for... for saving my life. I promise you, Newton, from now on I will make it up to you, I...”

“Sure sound like something the dream version of you would say,” Newt murmured, and his lip twitched. He turned to bury his face against Hermann’s chest, and it did not even occur to Hermann to flinch at the mess as his heart turned over in his chest.

“Newton…”

“S’quiet in my head,” Newt said, his words muffled. “That’s how I know m’dreaming. It’s never quiet in my head, not anymore.”

Hermann’s heart lurched and he moved despite himself, wrapping his arms around Newton in a death grip and burying his face against his hair. His own body shook, tremors racing through him at the thought of what Newt had endured, what he’d allowed Newt to endure. He didn’t want to fight with him, he didn’t want to explain the deal he’d made, why he had been silent, or why he’d broken that silence. All of those excuses, and it would only be for his own benefit. If Newton took comfort in thinking this was a dream, then who was Hermann to force the issue?

It could wait until morning. He had a day, only one, to try to make up for nearly a month of neglect, to try to patch together a man he’d all but shattered with his silence, with his unwitting cruelty.

“Come now, darling,” Hermann said, and his voice was strained in his ears. “Why don’t you wash up and we’ll get you to bed, how does that sound?”

Newton went still, his breath wheezing in and out before he nodded against Hermann's chest. It was four in the morning according to the kitchen clock by the time Hermann helped him wash his mouth and face. He guided Newton stumbling to his couch. It was that or the bedroom, and he would rather die than send Newton back into that chamber of horrors with its pulsing brain as a constant reminder of his tormentors. Hermann gently helped him out of his trousers for bed so he was down to an undershirt and boxers, then tucked him in beneath the covers, turned on his side in case he was sick again in the night. Newt gave a soft sigh as Hermann drew the blankets up to his chin. Once settled, Hermann sat upright beside him, stroked his fingers through his hair until the movement was arrested by Newt’s fingers closing around his wrist.

“Come on,” Newt mumbled. “You’ll freeze out there, get under here.”

“Are you certain?” Hermann said softly.

Newt nodded against the pillows, his eyes still shut. “Mmmyeah, totally. Gotta…gotta take what I can get, right?” He cracked his eyes open and glinted in the light of the city outside. “God, I wish this was real, I wish you were... I've missed you so fucking _much_.”

Hermann’s heart clenched and he bit back another reassurance that it _was_ him and instead nodded. He’d already changed to pajamas earlier that night while he waited for Newton to return, and he slid beneath the covers so he was facing him, making sure that the chain was out of the way, trailing over the edge of the couch, and out of sight. He didn’t want to think about it for a while, didn’t want Newt to see its reminder.

He wondered if it was the right thing to keep a respectful distance, given Newt’s state, but found the choice taken from him as Newt sighed and snuggled up against his chest, pressing his face up to Hermann’s throat and breathing deeply. “Missed this, missed your smell, missed your everything,” Newt slurred, nuzzling closer, and Hermann’s resolve broke.

“I missed you as well,” he whispered. "Unbearably." 

He wrapped his arm around Newton in return, trailing his fingers gently up and down the back of his neck. They could work out the rest in the morning. Where they stood, what to do going forward, what contact was welcome between them and what wasn’t. For now, Hermann was content to live in the dream too. A dream where Newton’s thoughts were quiet and they lived inside a memory, where no harm could come to them.

**Author's Note:**

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> 
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